


Aegon's Charter

by TheSwordInTheDarkness310



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, F/M, Gen, Original Character(s)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-12
Updated: 2019-04-19
Packaged: 2019-10-26 20:24:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 27,112
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17752892
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSwordInTheDarkness310/pseuds/TheSwordInTheDarkness310
Summary: Set during the final years of the Mad King's reign.Aegon V Targaryen was a people's King. He had grand plans for the welfare of his beloved realm;but when his children let him down he looked for other ways to fulfill them. Sorcery & dragon eggs caused his demise in Summerhall, but smoke & grief weren't the only legacy he left behind.





	1. Prologue

**Prologue**

**283 AC**

**Tower of Joy**

The Dornish sun glared hot and angry from the window as she lay on the bed, defeated and dying.

Utter exhaustion had overwhelmed her, and every ragged breathe had become a hard fought battle. Blood was leaking from her womb, and her life with it, Lyanna could feel it.  _S_ _o tired, and thirsty. Water, some water please. Someone..anyone._ She tried to say it out loud, but her throat seemed to have shut down, and no sound escaped from her parched lips. Who would she speak to anyway, she was all alone, drenched in blood and cold sweat.

Lya's poor midwives lay dead on the floor beside her raised bed. Lya couldn't see them from her bed, but she knew they were there, lying on the floor just inches from her, their blood growing colder each passing moment; killed by the  _old woman_  as they had tried to help Lya after the birth. Lya imagined their dead faces must still be carrying the shock they had had felt during their last moments, the sudden wide eyed consternation on their homely faces when the  _old woman_ had unsheathed the knives meant for them. The  _old woman_  had escaped through the backdoor, along with Lya's child.

Her father was dead too, along with her brother; tortured to death by the  _Mad King,_  father of the man she loved. Rhaegar was gone as well if the old woman was to be believed, killed by Ned's army in the Riverlands. Only Ned remained, but she had no desire to meet him, to _face_ him.

 _She took him away, my child._ Lya didn't even get a chance to see him. The old woman had snatched him up like an oatsack as soon as he had come out.  _She had known it all along,_ Lya realized in despair.  _She knew everything, that vile bitch, about what would happen. She played us all, and now she has him, just as she had wanted all along._

'You are nothing, ' the old woman had said as she had stood over Lya beside the dead midwives, the crying child nestled in her arms. Her words still echoed in her mind. 'Don't for a moment think that you were something special. Rhaegar needed you for a child, the third head of the Dragon, that is all. You were just a broodmare, and your purpose is finished now. Do us all a favor now child, and die quickly.' With those words she had gone away, along with her babe.

 _Perhaps she was right,_ Lya thought as more blood leaked and soaked her inner thighs.  _Why would she be wrong? She had been right about everything._ Lya closed her eyes and waited for it. It was all that was left of her life, the end.  _I_ _deserve this,_ she told herself. The  _Gods had once taught me a sharp lesson. I should've heeded to it._ Instead she chose to run away with the handsome prince. That started a war, and people died, all because of her.

Lya would go peacefully, that was more than what she deserved. Father was burnt alive for no crime, and Brandon was strangled. Thinking about sent a pang of pure agony through her heart.  _I should try to sleep,_ she told herself.  _Wh_ _en I wake_ _up_ _I will be with father and mother, and Brandon._

She waited with closed eyes, but sleep didn't come, neither did death. Instead she heard the backdoor burst open, and two persons rush in. "Lya," came an alarmed call of a familiar voice. The voice made Lya smile, and warmth rushed through her.  _Horas!_ It had been more than a year since she had heard him speak. She had missed him, her oldest friend. Lya opened her eyes. There he was, tall and strong, with an impressive close-cut beard.  _A man grown now, no one can dispute that. Not even his father._ He was beside her, looking at her with wild worry. "That  _bastard!_  What did he do to you," he exclaimed. "Get me that linen Pate! Need it to stop the blood!"

"What is to be done then Ser Horas," asked the man Pate, whom she didn't recognize. His voice though, it was Northern. It felt nice to hear a Northern voice after so long.

"Don't you see what is to be done," Horas barked in anger at Pate as he tried to stop the bleeding. "Call Clydas! And Dalla too! They should know what to do! Cut down anyone who gets in your way. Our Lady needs help! Go now!"

Pate rushed to the door. "Clydas! Dalla! Get your arses here  _now!_  There's help needed! Clydas! Dalla," his voice faded as he rushed downstairs.

"You will be fine Lya," her friend urged as he threw away the bloody sheets. He pressed in some more fresh linen between her thighs, and rushed towards the water pitcher. "The bleeding should stop, but I still see some blood," he spoke as he hastily filled a large brass tumbler. "The others will know better, I am sure. Gods! I think you need some rest that is all, and water, lots of it." He rushed back to her side. "Clydas will take care of you, and Dalla, she has been worried sick for you. Just hold my hand. Don't let go!" He brought the tumbler to her lips, and she lapped and sucked hungrily at the cool water in it. Nothing had ever tasted sweeter, and more satiating. Water cleared her addled mind, and the urgent thoughts thumped in.

"Ho..Horas," Lya managed to speak when the tumbler was empty.

"Yes, Lya," Horas said, as he wiped the cold sweat from her face. "Tell me what you need. More water?" He leaned towards her face to get a better listen.

"No."

"What then," he asked.

"She took him."

"What?"

"She took my babe," she spoke in between ragged breaths. "Stop her, please."

"Who's she?"

"The old woman...from the East. She will turn him into...one of them!"

"I don't understand."

More people entered from the backdoor. "Oh Gods," she heard Dalla exclaim.

"She'll want to leave by sea. Find her. Save him," she whispered. "Save my child. Promise me Horas!"


	2. God's Eye: Edmun I

**Chapter 1**

**281 AC, 2 years ago**

**God's Eye**

* * *

 

It was done, finally. The four year long winter was over in the Riverlands. Cold winds didn't blow anymore, and the snows had finally stopped beating down upon the nearly spent realm. Winter didn't go away just like that, for it was after two full weeks since the last snowfall that the four years long dream had started to take shape. The dream that had given men and women strength to live through days of agonizing cold, that had kept the people huddled together and hold on to loved ones, and not despair when the frigid weather became unbearable, and the Stranger himself seemed to call out for them.

It was the dream of  _spring,_ for after every nightfall there's a sunrise. The dream of a warm rising sun that's smash away all the cold and pain, of new bountiful harvests that'd wipe out the starvation and sickness. A dream of better days, for what else can one do when winter comes.

The dream was taking shape in many ways. The sanguine sun had risen, and the Earth was singing its most bewitching song. A heavy motherly scent filled the air as the soil thawed and flooded. Tender leaves had already dared to creep though the barren branches, and were now growing strong. On the back of a thick humus new grass sprouted out of the wet soil, attracting hungry animals whose growing chatter became more and more discernible. And people, how could one not talk about them. Mornings saw folks emerging from their homes with a hopeful smile on their weathered faces, and the look of sage entrepreneurial determination as they moved to restart their trade and living. The Gods had heard their prayers, and it was time to thank them in full.

Open plains and woods surrounded God's eye, the ancient huge lake in the middle of Westeros. It was taking its time in thawing despite more than one month of spring, and a glistening sheet of senile ice still remained over its middle. The dream was visible here as well. The castle of Harrenhal looming over had shrugged off all its ice, and the plains had already lost the last of its white sheen. Serene blue sky loomed over an open green scenery. Grass and shrubs grew and swayed with the spring breeze, and stray beasts grazed at them in peace.

The 'peace' didn't last long though, for all of a sudden the ground began to shake with the thudding of steel hooves on earth. Sheep and cattle for once stopped their grazing, and turned towards the source of the commotion. Four riders on handsome well-fed horses had come out of nowhere, or so it appeared, crushing nascent shrubs and painstakingly dug burrows under their heavy limbs as they galloped through the field. The animals yelped and moved away, and the horses ran past them towards the lake.

Excited laughter of two boys filled the air.

"Slow down Lords," shouted one of the two horsemen who were trailing the other two in the front.

"Your fathers will not like it lads," called the other of the two behind. "Edmun! Hoster! You are not to ride this fast, or this far. You don't have the practice."

But all Edmun cared for was the song of his horse's hooves, the taste of the spring morning, and the cool wind blowing at his face.  _You have been telling the same since the last_ _ **thousand**_ _days,_ he thought, throwing back his head and letting his hair fly, each gallop of his chestnut horse sending a quiver of pure joy through his giddy insides. His cousin Hoster hooted in blithe laughter from his side. "I have had enough practice," he called back at their grandfather's men, then called at Edmun, "Come on, race you to the lake!"

" _My lords!"_

But the lordly cousins were already away, urging their horses to go even faster. A wordless tune came on its own out of Edmun's dry lips. Time for caution was gone. The winter was over, the prudence was done. He and his cousin hadn't been allowed to go out of Harrenhal for four years, and within its grey walls they had grown from children of eight to tall boys of twelve. It was time of freedom for Edmun and Hoster, to fulfill all the promises they had made to themselves about what they'd do when spring arrives. Riding in the tourney grounds beside God's Eye was at the very top. Even when the spring came the boys had waited, for they had never ridden a horse before. They had sat and listened patiently to the stable master's instructions, then had ridden under his watchful eyes for almost a week until the master had told that they were fit to go. Nothing was to stop him now, certainly not two of his father's men.

Edmun won the race. He pulled at the reins when he was four yards away from the lake, his horse drawing brown furrows in the grassy land as it came to a halt. He turned his vision ahead when Hoster reached him.  _It's huge,_ he thought for a thousandth time, as his eyes took in the view. One might have thought that God's Eye was an ocean, had it not been for the landmarks that grounded it down; the huge towers of Harrenhal for instance; and the lush Isle of Faces in the middle, hardly visible from the shores. " _Green men live there,"_ a knight had told them once. " _Disfigured men and women with leaves for ears and noses and privates, who are plotting to throw us Andals out and sacrifice our children to their tree gods."_ Edmun had been frightened when he had first heard it, but now all he did was scoff.  _An Isle of White trees, with carved faces, nothing more._

"I can't see it," Hoster said. "Can you?"

"Maybe," Edmun replied, boring his hopeful eyes in the supposed direction of the Isle. "It is too far away, but I think I see something."

His father's men caught up with them. "We are not to stay here for long my lords," Warren said.

"This is where we hold the melees and jousting tourneys right?" Hoster asked as he looked around the open lands dotted with some trees, his long red hair tussled from the wind.

"Aye," said Ser Agron. "These plains, these are your family's lands. People can't farm here. These are for tourneys, though there hasn't been one for a very long time. We  _have_  to go back soon though. Today is important, remember."

"Yes yes I remember," Edmun's smile grew wider. He looked at Hoster, who was grinning as well. It was a special day after all. Their grandfather was to welcome and host two of the Kingsguard knights today, who were expected to arrive before noon. They all were told that it was for an uninteresting work, an errand from the Prince of Dragonstone Rhaegar Targaryen; yet the whole populace of Harrenhal was thrilled. Spirits of the young ones were particularly high. Ser Arthur Dayne was coming to Harrenhal, along with Ser Oswell Whent, the younger brother of his grandfather, Lord Walter Whent. The Sword of the Morning himself, and a Kingsguard knight from their own house! Spring was truly a joyous time.

"Let's stay here some more," Hoster seconded, "then we'll return. We have Maester Forlan's lessons too, so we have to be there as well." He smirked, while Edmun grimaced. There were things on which the two cousins differed, despite being uncannily alike. Hoster was the son of the second son of Lord Walter, while Edmun had been born from the third son. They had been born in the same year though, and both shared the common traits of House Whent; red hair, tall stature, easy smiles. Both of them were already almost five and a half feet tall. But while Hoster was still a bit fleshy, Edmun had grown into a more lean build.

"But my lord," said Ser Agron, "what if we are late?" Ser Agron wanted to present himself to the Kingsguard when they arrive. He was the best lance in Harrenhal after all, and a very good swordsman, better than most. Also, he was the son of the previous steward of Harrenhal, and most importantly he had recently been made a knight. A proper acquaintance with the Kingsguard would go a long way for Ser Agron, or so he had claimed in the stables. Warren had wanted to meet them as well, but he had admitted dispondently in the stables that he was too lowborn to be a Kingsguard, nor was he knight yet.

"We won't be, I promise," Edmun replied, eager to resume their ride. Ser Agron's stiff face betrayed some anxiety, which gave Edmun a pause.  _Had we been some other unruly boys Ser Agron would have playfully clouted our skulls and have had his way._  Not Edmun and Hoster though, they were his lord's grandsons. A frown fleeted across Edmun's face; he glanced at Hoster, but he was more interested elsewhere. "I promise we won't take too much of your time Ser Agron," he added whole heartedly. The two older men nodded.

The cousins wheeled their horses and rode along the shore. Their two companions rode to the left of them, going back to the role of sporting grown-ups. While Hoster was more content in appreciating his healthy black horse, Edmun chose to look around. The beautiful scenery mesmerized him, and the thought about forcing Ser Agron and Warren to stay with them started fleeing. Maesters had always written of this place in such ghastly words, and tales of horror were told everywhere. Edmun could never relate to them. Harrenhal was beautiful in its own way, the biggest stronghold in the realm beside a large beautiful lake; not just a burnt castle where ghosts of Harren the Black and his sons roamed and moaned. There were charred towers and rickety chambers aye, but Edmun and the others never entered them, instead choosing to stay in the more habitable regions of the castle.  _One can always avoid the bad parts, and live in the good ones._ People are free to say what they want, Edmun didn't care. Harrenhal was his home.

"Do you think we'll get to talk to Ser Arthur Dayne," Hoster asked, breaking the silence.

"I don't know," Edmun answered truthfully. "What do you think Ser Agron?"

"Oh you will, or so I've heard," Ser Agron replied. "Ser Arthur Dayne always talks to lesser lords and smallfolk wherever he goes. Young ones in particular."

"Really," asked a puzzled Edmun. "I thought he'd be a busy man, being a Kingsguard and all."

"He is," Ser Agron replied. "But he is smart, and wise. He knows what he means to the people of the realm, so he chooses to lead by example. It inspires loyalty among the subjects."

Warren chuckled. "It'd come handy now won't it? The King is one of those mad ones!"

That made Edmun look at Warren. "The King is  _mad_? What do you mean?"

"Aye he is, in literal sense," he said. "Loves to execute the criminals by burning. Never washes himself, and never cuts his hair, people say he is afraid of knives and blades. Targaryens are often crazy. Everyone knows it."

"That's odd," said Hoster. "If King Aerys is mad, then why are people not against him."

Warren chuckled again. "It was winter for last four years lad. People were more worried about freezing to death than a mad king. The last four years were quiet. Maybe something will happen now. Winter is over, and the lords will go back to their game."

"The game never stopped Warren," said Ser Agron. "Prince Rhaegar wed Lady Elia during the winter. The game is always played here."

"What game," asked Hoster.

"Why young lord, the only game they  _can_  play," said Warren. "The game of thrones."

Edmun felt himself bristle. He had heard this phrase, and not in good light. He looked down at his horse, who was trotting along without any care in the world. "What do you think Ser Agron?"

Ser Agron gave him an assuring look. "Don't you worry about that lad. You enjoy your first spring. It will all be good. Going against the King would mean war, and no one wants that. The Lannisters are the only one who hold a grudge, that is all. The Crown has the Dornish and the Stormlords firmly behind it. Prince of Dragonstone's wife is a Dornish Princess, and the previous Lord Baratheon was a good friend of King Aerys, when he was sane that is. The Reachmen too support the Crown, the Lords of Tyrell have always loved to lick the Dragon boots."

Edmun nodded. Hoster asked some more questions, something about the Vale lords and the Starks of Winterfell, which Edmun chose to not listen to. Instead he shifted his focus again to the lake. There was a breeze in the air, wafting smells of grass and wet earth into his nostrils. Sadly the lake wasn't catching any of it. The ice in the middle still prevented waves in the lake. _How beautiful will it be, when the whole lake will melt, it will be all blue with waves._ Edmun's eyes traced the shore from where he rode, further along to the bend ahead where a large smooth rock was lying.

He did a double take.  _What is that?_ His eyes stayed fixed at the rock as his horse kept walking along. "Look," Edmun pointed in the direction of the rock, lying so close to the lake that its one end had frozen into it. "What is that," he asked Warren to his left. Warren didn't reply at once. Instead his eyes widened and his mouth opened and closed; this got Edmun interested. The rock was long and flat as a doughpan. Not just that, it was shining at places, catching the light like polished wood. He looked at Ser Agron, whose face was stoic, refusing to budge. Edmun urged his horse forward, and Hoster followed his suit from behind.

"Wait Lord Edmun," Ser Agron called, but he didn't listen this time. These were his grandfather's lands after all, so Edmun had a  _right_  to see what's in them. It was the first time he had come here, and the rock seemed out of place. It was catching more and more light as he neared it.  _What makes a stray stone that shiny, and that flat, and that large? Is that really a stone?_

Edmun dismounted when he was in front of it; a large rock, thin and flat as a door, about four feet long, two feet wide, polished stone. He also spotted etchings on it surface.  _It's a plaque,_ he thought,  _but it is too large to be a plaque._ Hoping that his horse doesn't run away, Edmun walked towards the frozen lake, to its bank where the stone lay. Hoster followed him.

"My lords," he heard Warren and Agron's calls.

Edmun bent down, and ran a hand across the wet surface. He glanced behind at Hoster, who looking over from a distance. It had inscriptions on it, or rather used to have. The writing had been chipped away crudely and cruelly, by someone who had apparently loathed the words; Edmun could sense it.  _Rocks can't be burned, so they must be chipped away._  His eyes looked it over, identifying stray hooks in between the crude gashes made by chisel and hammer. The hooks had been part of some script once, wholesome and coherent, before being destroyed with caustic rage. His eyes caught something else at the end touching the lake. There the engravings were much deeper, deep enough to not be corroded completely, hence discernible. Edmun moved and bored his eyes into them, and made out two clear words, or so he thought.

_**AEGON'S CHARTER** _

_Is it Aegon?_  Edmun wasn't sure. Warren's voice came from behind "It's time to go lad," He said. "We'll be late!"

"Do you know what this is," Edmun asked them. HIs curiosity had peaked. It was no common name, but a King's name, or rather, the name of  _five_ Kings that had ruled the realm once.

"Not a clue," Ser Agron replied effortlessly. "Why don't you ask the Maester. You  _can_  ask him can't you? Cmon off we go," he patted his horse's side.

Edmun frowned, but obeyed Ser Agron. They wheeled their horses around and started riding back to the castle. Edmun turned to glance at the rock one last time.  _Aegon,_ it had said. Why would someone destroy writing which had a King's name on it.  _Which Aegon is it?_ Five Aegons had ruled the realm, each with his own moniker.  _It has to the one called Unworthy. His words must have been unworthy, so here they lie beside the lake._ He asked Ser Agron about it, to which he gave a measured reply. "Aye it says Aegon, but not Aegon the Unworthy. It is the fifth Aegon, Aegon the Unlikely."

 _Didn't you just say that you had no clue._ Edmun looked at the others. His cousin didn't seem interested, while the two men were as reluctant as they could be.

The sun had risen up high by the time they neared the village. Lively chatter of people became very pronounced as they rode on, and the scent of earth and grass gave way to the smell of freshly baked bread and roasted meat. Soon enough they had left the nature behind and were amongst people. The village had woken up fully, and the folks were out and about. The castle would be busy as well by now. His family must be at the breakfast table, eating bacon and eggs and bread. They'd begin their daily routine after that. His father Lord Clynton Whent and his uncles would begin their lordly tasks, hearing to petitioners and punishing criminals and what not; his mother Lady Gisella and his aunts must have already began ordering around the servants and kitchen staff; his elder sister Milly would go to her septa like the other highborn maidens in the castle, for studying and singing songs and knitting clothes, things that girls do. This was time for duty for everyone, or chores depending on your place in Harrenhal. Edmun himself would be going to the Maester's quarters for his lessons, after that things would be different than daily because of the Kingsguards' arrival, or so he hoped.

By the time they reached Harrenhal the scents of pristine nature were totally gone, and the air became heavy with sounds characteristic of human settlements. They went past the gates of Harrenhal, under the thick grey archway that led into the castle's courtyard. Edmun watched as they trailed past a long queue of ragtag villagers, local folks who used to come to his uncles and father daily ever since spring broke, asking for repairs to the damage done during winter, grain to quench their hunger, seeds to plant the fields, and other things. He spotted some familiar faces among them, though he couldn't recall where he had seen them before.  _They live in the village, so the village mayhaps._  He headed straight to the stables, where he handed over his horse to a lanky stableboy, who took the reins with his frostbite ridden fingers. Warren and Ser Agron took their leave there, and walked away towards the barracks. Edmun turned towards his cousin. "So what do you think was written on that stone," he asked.

"I don't know," Hoster answered. "It might not be that important you know."

"Maybe, but don't you want to know about it?"

Hoster shrugged. "Why would I really?"

"Oh come on," said Edmun. "You surely saw Warren and Ser Agron's reaction when I asked them about it. They had the same faces our parents have when we ask them about the bedding ceremony."

Edmun hadn't meant it as a joke, but Hoster laughed anyway. "We should do it again," he said, chortling. "Let's see how they do this time. We will soon be men, they surely know that we know." Edmun rolled his eyes, which made Hoster talk further. "Fine fine we will ask the maester."

They freshened up in their rooms and made way for the Maester's quarters. Edmun greatly admired Maester Forlan. He was a good man, and wise, a fountain of knowledge. He had taught his father and uncles, and had delivered most of the children in Harrenhal, including Edmun and his sister. Edmun wasn't as fond of his lessons as some others, but he gave the maester his due respect. Today he had an important question to ask him. What was that rock, what was written on it, which of the five Aegons does it talk about? He made his way through the gravelly courtyard, dodging past rushing servants and soldiers, towards the maester's quarters. He spotted his thin grey clad frame from afar; he was busy talking to his second aunt Lady Mara.

"Maester Forlan," he said when he presented himself to the wise man. "I am here!"

A warm smile lit up the old maester's face and he turned to face him. "Oh good. This is a lucky day for you young lords," he spoke in his kind voice. "We won't be having our lessons today. I have some important work to do, for Lord Whent and the Kingsguard knights."

Edmun frowned, which puzzled the maester. "Go have fun Lord Edmun. No lessons today, don't you children love that?" He turned and starting walking away. Edmun followed him. "Wait Maester Forlan. I have a question."

Maester stopped to listen to him. "Hurry up my lord. I am short of time today, as you can see."

Edmun cut to the point. "I found a rock near the eastern shore of the lake. A big rock. It had the name of the fifth Aegon Targaryen. Ser Agron said..."

Maester Forlan cut him off, his voice intense all of a sudden. "Hush now," his eyes had narrowed dagerously. He came closer to Edmun. "Don't talk about this here. We'll speak of this in the evening, or tomorrow." He walked away, and Edmun heard him muttering, '.. _why didn't they break it down when they had the chance..."_

_**xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx** _

"The realm sees hardships everyday, but it keeps moving forward." Ser Arthur Dayne spoke in his regal voice as he leaned forward from his seat; looking at the children with a smile, who listened with rapt attention. The Kingsguard had arrived before noon as they all were told. They had soon retired to the Lord's solar with Lord Walter, along with Edmun's father, uncles and two eldest male cousins. It was after an hour or so that Ser Arthur had emerged from inside to announce that he'd talk to the young lords and ladies now. The main hall was emptied, and a plush armchair was placed at head of the room. Chairs were placed at the front for the members of the Whent family, while the other children of the castle (and even those from the village) were seated behind them on the matted floor.

"It moves past hardships, winning against freezing winters and hot summers, because brave men will it so. Men  _and women_ , both. We all have parts to play, different parts, but they all lead to the same goal. Even if you are not a Kingsguard or even a knight, you deserve the same dignity as every person does, being a child of the Gods. Each of you can be of service to the Gods, to the realm, to your lord, and of course to the King." Ser Arthur Dayne concluded with these remarks, and many of his audience clapped loudly. Edmun looked at his sister Milly who was sitting beside him at the front, looking at Ser Arthur with wide misty eyes.  _She is in love already,_ He smirked and turned his gaze back to the knight.  _Who wouldn't be?_ The Sword of the Morning seemed to have been brought to life straight from a fairytale. He was handsome, and noble, and gallant; and had a legendary sword. Perhaps that is the reason why his companion Ser Oswell Whent was still inside talking business in Lord Walter's solar, while Ser Arthur Dayne had come out here to say inspiring things to children.  _They both have parts to play._ "Whether you are a lord or a peasant, give everyone the respect that they deserve," said Ser Arthur.

"Now I want you all to ask questions," Ser Arthur spoke further in a nonchalant fashion. "You can ask anything. Don't feel shy."

Of course most questions were about how to become a Kingsguard knight, worded in different ways by wide eyed boys. Edmun listened to the knight with full attention. He himself had often dreamed of becoming a Kingsguard, defending the King and serving the realm; but most of the time that dream had seemed too far-fetched. Edmun was a skilled archer, and a good rider; but swordplay had always been hard for him, despite his efforts. A knight's primary weapon was the sword, and as long as Edmun couldn't master it dreaming of Kingsguard would be silly.

"Kingsguards give up everything," spoke Ser Arthur. "Family, friends, lands, loved ones, everything. It sounds very gallant, but it is a hard life. The only property held by a Kingsguard is his honor, and the currency in which he spends it, is blood. Blood and sacrifice." Many gasped on hearing it. Ser Arthur continued. "Only the best men who are dedicated to serve the realm get the honor to become a Kingsguard."

On hearing that Edmun remembered something, and he raised his hand for the first time. Ser Arthur gestured at him to speak. "Ser Arthur," he began, unsure of how to address such a great man. "There is a man sworn to my father, his name is Warren. He helps everyone who needs help and doesn't ask anything in return, and he is the best swordsman in Harrenhal; but he doesn't think he can be a Kingsguard knight."

"Why does he say so child," Ser Arthur asked.

"He says he is too lowborn for it," Edmun added. "I asked the maester about it; he said that Kingsguard knights are all highborn lords." Ser Arthur's violet eyes narrowed, and Edmun continued in earnest. "Ser Arthur, can you meet Warren. Talk to him, see how good he is."

Suddenly Ser Arthur looked very different. It was as if the knight had worn a different face, a face that was heavy with thought, not the previous face of one's wise uncle telling his nephews and nieces stories. "I will talk to him young lord. If he is as good as you say he is, then I will even introduce him to the Prince. Are you happy now child?"

Edmun nodded sheepishly. It was Milly who spoke next. "Ser Arthur, how does the Crown ensure that the knights chosen as Kingsguards are more dedicated than all others? There have been many vile knights as well."

Ser Arthur smiled. "It is wisdom of the King young lady, that determines the quality of the men surrounding him. Prince Rhaegar," he cleared his throat, "is a great leader..."

"What about King Aerys Ser Arthur," blurted out Martyn the Heir, son of Edmun's eldest uncle, a huge prick. "Is he.."

"You shouldn't interrupt others when they are speaking boy" said Ser Arthur, and Martyn paled and shut up. "Kingsguard are supposed to guard the King, and as such they have to be someone the King trusts. Oftimes such men are highborn, because the King hardly has time to know many common people personally. Ser Duncan the Tall was one of the Kingsguards who were commoners. He was a hedge knight, but he had the trust of the King of that time, and hence he went on to become the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard."

"Does it mean that children such as us can never be Kingsguard," asked Tommy, son of the head cook of Harrenhal.

Ser Arthur seemed puzzled. "It is up to the Gods," he conceded. "There are places where everyone has an equal chance to rise high. In Bravos there is an open test for one to join the Iron Bank; same thing happens in Tyrosh too, in its banks, as well as the Tyroshi guilds making lenses, lace gowns, carpets, and other wares that our Westerosi ladies and lords love. They hold tests to enroll acolytes. In Westeros the closest thing to this is the Citadel where anyone can enroll..."

"Not  _anyone_  Ser Arthur," said Milly, and the other girls looked at her with mixed emotions.  _Does she really want to be a maester,_ Edmun mused.

"True," said Ser Arthur. "It was tried once here, to improve the chances of the common people, so they can better their lives. It was in the time of the King's grandfather, Aegon Targaryen fifth of his name; but the endeavor was rejected and removed, but let's not..."

Hearing the name of the fifth Aegon clicked something inside Edmun's mind. He remembered the rock beside the lake,whose writing was removed as well,  _violently_  at that. It was as if a burden of some heavy mystery had shed off its weight from his mind, and he had jumped free. " _Aegon's Charter_?" He blurted out before he could stop.

Ser Arthur's eyes snapped back to Edmun, and bored into him.  _"What did you say_?"

Edmun gulped. "Ae..gon's Charter."

"What do you know about that?"

"Nothing," he admitted. "I read it somewhere."

Ser Arthur nodded and looked away, but something told Edmun that the knight wasn't done with him. "Are there any more questions," he asked in a definitive tone. When no one replied he got up from his seat, and gestured them all to disperse.

It was well past noon when they all dispersed from the hall. As soon as Edmun reached the courtyard he felt a hand on his shoulder. It was one of the men at arms travelling with the Kingsguard knights, who told him that Ser Arthur wants to talk to him. Edmun was led by the man towards the stables, where Ser Arthur Dayne stood waiting for him, leaning against the wooden railing enclosing the horses inside. "Come young lord," he called, as he fed a carrot to a grey mare. Edmun walked to him, unsure of what to say, or think.

"Tell me," the knight asked, pushing strands of silver hair behind his ears. "What do you know of Aegon's Charter?"

"Nothing ser," Edmun said truthfully. "We went for a ride today, me and my cousin Hoster. We found a large rock beside the lake. It had this engraved on it."

"Just this?"

"No, Ser Arthur," Edmun mumbled. He had heard great tales of this man, of his prowess in swordsmanship, his legendary sword Dawn, of his defeat of the Kingswood Brotherhood. It was all too much for Edmun, so much that he avoided Ser Arthur's eyes. "Look at me when you speak to me boy," Ser Arthur said in an amused tone. "I won't bite."

Edmun looked at Ser Arthur. "There were other words too, once. They had all been chipped away."

There was a pause, and then Ser Arthur did something that Edmun didn't expect. He threw his head back and laughed out loud, and the mare shied away from him. Edmun watched the Kingsguard knight as he laughed like any other common man. His laughter was infectious, and Edmun smiled as well despite his puzzlement. "Why are you laughing Ser Arthur," he asked finally.

"It is ironic that's all," said Ser Arthur as he wiped his eyes. "Here, of all places." He cleared his throat and made his voice solemn, though his eyes still danced with bitter mirth. "I have visited many castles around Westeros young lord...what's your name?"

"Edmun."

Ser Arthur nodded in affirmation. "Let me restart Lord Edmun. Do you know why I talk to children wherever I go, and not the adults?"

Edmun shook his head. "It is because most adults are hopeless," he replied, "set in their ways. If you want real change, you have to start at a young age, though in many places the children are hopeless as well." The knight smiled a bitter smile. "So, as I was saying, I have visited many castles Lord Edmun, mostly big ones of Lordly houses I will admit. Yet out of all of them it was only in Harrenhal that I was questioned about fairness and lordly privileges. Like all the other castles of Westeros in Harrenhal too men and women seem to know their place. Lords stand away from the servants, and make sure that they know who commands. Not the children though. Sure you and your cousins were seated on chairs while others sat on mats, but that is..."

"It was the steward who insisted on it Ser Arthur," Edmun cut in. "Not us."

Ser Arthur gave him a look when Edmun interrupted him. "As I was saying, out of all the castles that I have visited it was only in Harrenhal that I didn't have to talk separately to the lordly children and the common children. Unlike other places the children of Harrenhal sit together. Why is it so I wonder? Why do young lords here care for the common people?

"Not everyone is like that here Ser Arthur. My uncle's son Martyn bullies other..."

"Very well. Why do  _you_  care Lord Edmun, about the people?"

Edmun was taken aback. "I never said that I.."

"You want your father's man Warren to meet me right," said Ser Arthur. "So he too has a chance to become a  _Kingsguard,"_ he said the word as if it was a jape, "like any other lord, even though he is lowborn. What made you think of him? And finally, what is so special about Harrenhal, that all the children here were made to sit together?"

"We weren't made to sit together my lord," Edmun said. "We chose to."

"Why?"

"Why not," he said and stared back at the knight. "We have always sat together, it is nothing new."

"Tell me," said Ser Arthur.

"We had winter for the last four years," Edmun said. "It wasn't that severe compared to previous ones if Maester Forlan is to be believed, but there were nights when the cold became unbearable. Harrenhal is poor, and is broken and burnt at many places. Not all the inhabited chambers can beat the chill, there are cracks in the walls from which wind gets in. and once they do you can't stay in them let alone sleep there. So on most nights the whole populace used to sleep in the same halls, children in particular. We all used to share warmth from the same fires, we ate together, played together, slept together. When we did that, we weren't lords or peasants, we all were children wanting to stay warm and safe, and staying together gave us that. Sure the winter is done, and the nights of sleeping cold and frightened are behind us, why stop now?"

Ser Arthur had a bitter smile on his face. "Divided by birth, united by winter," he said to himself. "The winter is over though, so that might change."

"Ser?"

"Your man Warren may not be the only one getting a royal audience. Perhaps the Prince would like to meet you as well, young lord."

"What do you mean Ser Arthur?"

"I shouldn't tell you this, but you'll find out soon enough anyway," said Ser Arthur, as he pushed himself off the railing and stood up straight. "Your grandfather is soon to organize a huge tourney here, where lords and ladies from all over the Seven Kingdoms will come and take part. Prince Rhaegar will be there as well, and he'd love to meet you."

**XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

"Maester Forlan. I am here," Edmun called when he at the door of the maester's chamber. It was evening now. All the important business seemed to have been done, as most had retired to their leisurely activities. "Come in Lord Edmun," the maester called.

He was sitting behind his desk, writing something on a parchment. Edmun walked and took a seat opposite him. "Tell me about Aegon's Charter Maester Forlan."

The measter looked up. "Why do you want to know about it lad," he asked. "Go play outside, or ride. Do things that boys do."

"I said its name in front of Ser Arthur," he said, and the maester looked up in alarm. "He seemed to know about it. He even talked to me alone after that."

"That was foolish boy," Maester barked in anger, and Edmun was taken aback. "Children shouldn't speak of things they know nothing about. Do you know how much trouble you might have caused?"

"I am not a child anymore," Edmun talked back. "I will soon be thirteen, almost a man grown."

"How much of the world have you even seen Lord Edmun," said Maester Forlan, his wrinkled throat moving up and down. "There are things we learn with age. Know your place."

"Will you tell me about that phrase," Edmun pushed. "What does it mean?"

"Do you really want to know?"

"Yes maester," he replied.

The maester closed his eyes as he leaned forward on his desk, and sighed in exasperation. "The meaning is plain enough," he said. "It means a charter, written by Aegon Targaryen Fifth of his name." He cleared his throat and opened his eyes, which were hollow all of sudden. He began speaking in a haunted voice. "I was there that day," he said. "The day they tried to take over. The grounds on which you rode in the morning, they are green and clean today; but about twenty years ago a huge fight took place in there. Many were killed there, and the land was red with blood." Edmun's eyes widened. He remembered the green tourney grounds from this morning, and the lake. There was no sign of any battle, and nothing unusual.  _Except for the large stone everyone is so afraid of,_ he recalled.

"Who fought there Maester Forlan," he asked. "Why did they fight?"

"We will get to that," he replied. "First tell me, what do you know about the fifth Aegon?"

"Not much really," Edmun admitted. "He married a Blackwood Lady from the Riverlands, who later became the Queen. He is also called Aegon the Unlikely."

"Yes," affirmed the Maester, though he had lost the easy look on his face. "He was called the 'Unlikely' because no one expected him to become a King, until he was crowned by the Great Council. He was the youngest of four sons of King Maekar, but his eldest two brothers died, while the third became a maester for the Night's Watch. So there he was, an Unlikely King, a man who had until then spent most of his life wandering around unnoticed, living and laughing with the smallfolk, always accompanied by a hedge knight Ser Duncan the Tall. No one had said a word when he married a Lady who was the  _third_ daughter of House Blackwood, a weaker house in comparision, for everyone thought that he would never amount to much. So much had his time with the commonfolk influenced him, that at the Great Council most high lords considered him half a peasant. But he had the strongest blood, and the Crown went to him."

With feeble hands the maester reached for his brass tumbler, from which he took a sip of water. "So the realm had a Peasant King, a married man of three and thirty years. He had big plans for his Seven Kingdoms, to give the populace rights and liberties that he thought they deserved, that he'd witnessed them being deprived of in his time with the smallfolk. Fixed revenue, a charter of basic rights, protection from lords and middlemen, entitlements to bread, water and roof, and many more. When he enforced some of these the Lords resisted, calling it an encroachment on their lordly rights. There was a terrible winter during the early years of his reign, and when the King sent aid to the North during it he was called too generous and weak."

Edmun nodded, feeling a respect blooming inside him for this late King.  _This is how a King should be like,_ he thought. Maester Forlan continued. "So to pacify the Lords he came up with a plan. He arranged betrothals of his children to members of many Great Houses of Westeros. A cordial relation with the Lord Paramounts would have surely helped him to push his smallfolk friendly plans. However, all his children were cut from a very different cloth, nor had they been told of their father's desires from a young age. Aegon had never controlled his children, mostly leaving them to do as as they wished, as he himself had done when he was a boy. That became his undoing. Each of his issue rejected the betrothals, and followed their own heart. His heir married a commoner and rejected the throne, his second son Jaehaerys married his own sister Shiera, and his third son Daeron stayed unmarried. So instead of coming under the royal fold the Great Houses became angry and hostile; and Aegon's carefully crafted schemes were torn asunder." Edmun nodded and looked down, unsure of what to think of it. "King Aegon didn't give up. Now he thought of other ways to fulfil his plans. He had lost faith in the Lords, and now knew that going for any further reform would mean going against the noble houses." Maester Forlan remembered something else. "Bear in mind though, that in all this the  _North_  hadn't been considered as much as the other Kingdoms. Ever since the Dance of the Dragons the  _Starks_  of  _Winterfell_  have mostly kept to themselves." Edmun nodded, and the maester continued.

"Everyone knows that the first Aegon Targaryen melted the Seven Kingdoms into one with dragons," he spoke. "It was dragons that had given the Targaryen kings real power. Ever since the last dragon died they had to rely on political marriages and alliances to retain supremacy. Aegon thought of going back to the old days. If he had a dragon, like the first Aegon, he could once again beat the Great houses into submission. So he ordered his family and confidants to restart efforts of hatching the dragon eggs. Wise men from all over the world were called, having knowledge of many disciplines, including alchemy and sorcery."

" _Sorcery?_ " Edmun was shocked.

"Yes Lord Edmun," the maester looked pointedly at Edmun. "In addition to that,.. he drafted a  _Charter_. It is said the it was a redraft of another Charter written by those of Valyrian blood wanting to go back to the old days of Valyrian sorcery. Whatever the truth may be, the Charter presented by Aegon had none of it. In it he wrote of justice, of fairness. He proposed right and liberties every person deserves, irrespective of birth. Rights that are necessary, and ones that are additional. He ordered copies of it to be engraved on rocks and stone walls, to be placed everywhere. Once again the North was excluded."

"How did he get them placed Maester Forlan," asked Edmun. "Weren't the noble houses against him."

"King Aegon managed to get the support of the Stormlands and Dorne with skillful diplomacy," he spoke, "and with their support along with the Iron Throne's treasury he raised a legion, not to fight a war, but to do his work. It was named after him, ' _Aegon's Legion',_  and consisted of all sorts of people, hedge knights, peasants, second and third sons, septons and septas, and the knights sworn to the Crown; they were a diverse lot, but despite their differences they were dedicated to the King, and his Charter. The Crown trained them, and armed them. They moved all over Westeros, except the North and Iron Islands, placing Aegon's Charter everywhere, teaching about it to people, and enforcing it. The Lords were stricken, but they didn't want to go against the Crown. The King was already preparing for the possibility of war. He had the Stormlanders and Dornish behind him, and he was increasing the efforts for hatching the eggs. Some called him desperate, even mad. Many believe that those efforts delved heavily into sorcery. But everything went wrong one day.."

"Summerhall," said Edmun.

"Yes my lord. They were trying to hatch dragon eggs there, but something went wrong, and the whole castle exploded and burned down, along with the King and his Kingsguard, and the Prince of Dragonflies. Once again, Aegon's schemes were torn asunder, along with him."

"What happened then," he asked.

"As soon as the King died his son Jaehaerys took the Throne, and the first order he gave was the disbandment of the  _Aegon's Legion_. The Legion lost their legitimacy and support, and were branded outlaws. The lords started hunting them down wherever they could find them. The men and women of the legion fled when they were, but they didn't lose hope. They wanted to continue their original fight, so the members met secretly near God's Eye." Maester paused. "Perhaps that is what they had planned beforehand, in case such a thing happens, to meet near God's Eye. Perhaps they wanted to take over Harrenhal for food and weapons. Your grandfather Lord Walter Whent was informed of this, so he assembled his men and rode out against the outlaws."

Edmun gasped. "Why," he managed to say.

The maester didn't answer him. "A battle ensued, and the outlaws were routed. They were scattered after that, and that was the end of Aegon's legion." Maester cleared his throat again. "They splintered into three groups, with differing opinions. One wanted to wage war against the new King Jaehaerys, so they hid themselves in the Kingswood. Soon they all turned mad, and started calling themselves the  _Kingswoord Brotherhood_. The Smiling knight was once a huge supporter of King Aegon, but hardships turned him and his followers insane, and his Brotherhood started hunting lords and commoners alike. They were eliminated last year, when the Smiling Knight was slain by Ser Arthur Dayne himself."

"What about the others," Edmun asked, his lips parted.

"The second group still believed in their fight, and thought that they could still win. They were the wisest of the whole legion, consisting of peasants, hedge knights and artisans. They had been rejected by every Southern Kingdom, so they looked towards the one mainland kingdom their King had all but ignored."

" _The North._ "

"Yes my lord. That group went North, to Winterfell. They asked shelter from Lord Rickard Stark, and begged for his leave to preach the Charter to the Northerners. They presented a scheme through which they could make the North more prosperous than all the other kingdoms, through the commonfolk of the North. Example was given of the Manderlys, how sheltering them had benefited the North. But the Stark in Winterfell was a lord too, and he sensed correctly that giving power to the peasants would mean that he would hold less of it. So he wasn't moved."

"What happened then?"

"At first Lord Rickard wanted to send them away, or imprison them if things go bad. He was convinced otherwise by his Maester Walys Flowers. Lord Rickard was himself a young man of twenty. He had traveled and spent time in the Free cities before his father had passed, so he saw virtue in his Maester's urgings. The second group was accepted by Winterfell and was given shelter in a nearby village called Wintertown, where they began their work. They began inviting skilled smallfolk to Wintertown, and marketing the coveted Northern goods and commodities. They also encouraged the commoners to adopt better trade practices. Lord Rickard took loans from the Iron Bank of Bravos, and built roads, inns, and shelters. Trade and commerce flourished, and soon more and more people moved towards Winterfell. They were given training and work there, and Wintertown thrived, turning into the second city of the North." The maester smiled. "However the second group soon forgot the name of Aegon Targaryen. Lord Rickard had insisted that they shed off their past loyalties and become fully dedicated towards the Starks, and the group had obeyed. They swore themselves to Winterfell, and the charter was renamed and rewritten, many of its points amended or omitted, many new added, to suit Lord Stark's needs, and to pacify any possible slight offered to King Jaehaerys. No longer was it called  _Aegon's Charter_. Now it was called ' _North's Way_ '." Maester Forlan finished with a smirk.

"What about the third group Maester Forlan," he asked.

"The Third group.." the maester paused. "They were fierce supporters of Aegon Targaryen. Many of them had Valyrian blood in them, and had often delved into  _sorcery_. It is said that they were the ones closest to Aegon, and knew more of his plans than the others. They loved their King, but they hated the lords, and the smallfolk too for supposedly enabling them. So they fled Westeros, and founded a sellsword company in the East. After that they managed to infiltrate the Golden Company and kill its commanders. The Golden Company was taken over by them, and they renamed it as the Company of Dragons. Time away from here has only festered their hatred for the lords of the Seven Kingdoms." Suddenly Maester Forlan's voice became very quiet, as if he were afraid that someone might be listening. This scared Edmun, but he kept listening in earnest. "It is said that they are biding their time," he said. "They are watching, observing from a distance, preparing for the imminent day of reckoning; and when the time is right they will strike. They will take over the realm and smash the lordly powers aside, teach the smallfolk a sharp lesson for betraying the good King, and will implement the Aegon's Charter in full."

A chill went down Edmun's spine. and he tore his eyes away from the maester as he shivered. He remembered the frigid nights of the last four years, when the cold winds had howled against the walls and windows. He could see the warm sun setting outside the chamber's window, eager to rise the next day, hotter and stronger; but despite that Edmun's ears were ringing with fear, as if the winter had never gone away. It was still there, howling inside Edmun's mind, hungry for their lives.

**In the books House Whent is quite small and almost dead. I have expanded it out in this fic. Here Lord Walter Whent the organiser of the infamous Tourney of Harrenhal has three sons and two daughters. Edmun Whent is the son of the third one, Clynton Whent.**

**Next chapter will feature the characters from the canon. Thanks for reading!**


	3. Elia I

**Here's the second chapter. Hope you like it!**

**Chapter 2**

* * *

The rustling of sheets woke her, like they usually did in the mornings. Elia's eyes opened and looked to her husband's side. He was up, sitting beside her on their marriage bed, naked except for the blanket and sheets that covered him below the waist. Elia observed him more carefully as her senses returned to her. He was just sitting there, face buried deep in his palms, his lean back etched with gooseprickles.  _Nightmares again,_ she wondered. She pulled her hand from under the sheets and gently touched his back. "Rhaegar," she called.

Rhaegar's head rose from his palms. He looked down at her, and his face arranged into a smile. That was when her suspicions were confirmed.  _He has dreamed again._  His handsome face was crinkled with unease, and his breath seemed heavy with urgency. She gave him a sympathetic look, asking him to share.

"Are you well, Elia," he asked instead.

 _He always asks that._  She smiled as she rose up, the sheets dropping and shrugging off from her body. Rhaegar's eyes lingered on her breasts, then moved away, looking down at his lap. "Bad dreams?" She asked.

Rhaegar nodded stiffly, and her eyes turned soft. "The same ones," she asked. Rhaegar nodded again. Elia could tell that he wasn't telling the whole truth. The troubled look on his otherwise strong face  _was_ genuine though, and that made  _her_ reach out. Elia's eyes stayed on him as she slid closer. She moved her right hand and placed it around the back of his neck, under his long silver hair. She caressed him with her fingers for comfort, wordlessly asking him to talk to her. Soon enough his eyes loosened, and with a shuddering breath he leaned into her. She moved her hand into his hair as he kissed her cheek, then her shoulder, before resting his face on it. Elia shivered when his cold face touched her shoulder. His arm moved to encircle her in an embrace, Elia smiled when he did that.

"Don't you ever leave me, my lady," he whispered. He used to say  _that_  often as well, whenever he was troubled.

"I won't my love," she replied. "Though I am a bit hurt," she added with mischief. "You are having bad dreams on the same night we made love. What am I to make of that?"

Rhaegar snorted. "You were wonderful, Elia, like always. Don't worry about me."

 _Always the gallant knight, my husband._  "What can I do," she asked instead. Rhaegar moved up and kissed her deep on the lips, and for a moment she was in pure bliss. "You don't need to do anything my love," he said with a grateful smile. Elia sensed the honesty in his voice, but despite that his response made her bristle. He threw off his sheets and climbed out of their bed. "I hope we made a new baby last night," he said as he put on his smallclothes. "Rhaenys needs a brother, or a sister."

"I do so too," Elia made herself smile, hoping that his seed overcomes her frail constitution and quickens, like it had when they had made Rhaenys together. "I don't want to pry, Rhaegar..."

"We are husband and wife my lady," Rhaegar looked back at her. "You can never  _pry_."

"Tell me about your dreams then," she tried for an umpteenth time, as Rhaegar enclosed himself in a black robe. "We are man and wife as you said. I want to know  _more_ about what  _troubles_  you so much." In response he moved back to their bed to kiss her again. This time she didn't return it.

"As I have often said, you have no need to trouble yourself with my nonsense, Elia," he said. He kissed her forehead and moved back to stand straight on the floor. Elia watched as he threw open the chamber window, bathing their chamber in the morning light. He gave a longing look towards the shelf where his harp was sitting.  _He wants to play._ That was another of Rhaegar's ways to escape his troubles; a fine song from his silver harp was enough for anyone to forget their woes.

His gaze turned back to Elia. "My  _trivial_ troubles are mine, I will deal with them."

Elia didn't want to fight. They had had this talk several times, whenever Rhaegar's secrecy had become too much for her to handle. "Why so my prince," she asked.

Rhaegar had that look again, the  _princely_  face that politely told the listener to back off. Elia hated that look, because of late it was  _she_  who had been the one on its receiving end, the only one who cared enough to 'pry'. "Are the secrets of the Crown Prince too much for a homely woman like me," she heard herself say, and after a moment she realized  _what_ she had just uttered. She trained her face into a smile, intending to play it off as a joke.

Rhaegar's face lost that look. He looked shocked, and affronted. "Don't call yourself that."

Elia got out of her bed. She put on her smallclothes and her robe, and then looked her husband in the eyes. "I am not calling myself  _that,"_ she spoke. _"_ I know I am no homely woman, I am the Princess of Dorne, the future queen, your lawful wife. That means something, but at times I feel that you seem to forget that."

"You know that is not true Elia," Rhaegar said. "You know I love you, you are very important to me."

"If that was true, then you'd be honest with me."

"I am always honest with you."

"You hide things from me," she said. "And that makes me wonder what else you are hiding, beside your troubling dreams, your talks with Ser Arthur and the others, and your secret meetings with those Essosi. You  _had_  told me about your nightmares once," she recalled what he had told. "I remember that night. A bleeding star, ice and fire, winter rose on a white wall, rubies in a river, a laughing tree." That was all she had gotten from him. He believed them to be foretellings, and despite her skepticism Elia was ready to know more and share his concerns. Not Rhaegar though; she knew he didn't view her as a …. homely woman. He thought he was protecting her, like the knights from the fairy tales protect innocent virgin maidens. Elia was not a maiden though, nor was she foolish, she was a Princess of Dorne, and treatment like this from her own husband was downright insulting.

Had she and Rhaegar been one of those married couples who despised each other, then she'd have understood, but they weren't. Sure, their marriage hadn't started with the passion which'd be sung of in the songs, but with time it had grown, the trust, the love, and the passion too. There was strength in their bond, which they had built out of nothing, like two mature adults. Slowly but steadily they had shared more and more of their lives with one another, testing each others' boundaries, knowing each other's virtues and vices, likes and dislikes, desires and insecurities. Love had come on its own in the process, and had bloomed to become something precious. That  _love_  had helped her order her life, and when Rhaenys had come along she had felt as content as she could ever be.

That precious  _love_  was what used to come at stake for Elia, every time Rhaegar hid things from her. His secrecy about his dealings with the Essosi, and his dreams; she  _could_  have perhaps ignored them, had it not been for the severe effect they used to have on him. They troubled him immensely, as she could see, and it broke her heart to see him like that, especially with her not being able to help him.

"One day," Rhaegar said.

"What?"

"One day, I will tell you everything," Rhaegar spoke. "You have to understand, my love, we Targaryens, we have to deal with matters that no one else does. The blood of the  _dragon_  runs in us." He had told her that as well, so Elia remained unmoved. "Shaming you has never been my motive," he confessed, "nor do I think you weak. You are one of the strongest persons I know Elia, and you are my wife. But this," he hesitated. "There are things in the world that you won't believe, nor will any other sane person."

"What do you mean by 'sane'," Elia asked, remembering her mad good father.

"Trust me on this one Elia," he said, pleading. "For the sake of our time together, trust me."

Elia couldn't utter another word. She was defeated.  _Defeated by love._ "I will go to the nursery to check on Rhaenys, see if she has woken up," she said instead.

She could hear Rhaenys cooing as she was descending the winding staircase leading to the nursery. A maid was tending to her little daughter, a splitting image of Elia with the robustness of her father. She squealed in delight when she saw her mother walking towards her. It was Elia's favorite sound in the world, for the last one and a half year since Rhaenys was born. Elia lifted her up and planted a kiss on her cheek; while Rhaenys pawed at Elia's face with her little hands. The thoughts of her secretive husband started getting scarce already. Rhaegar came to meet Rhaenys as well but left shortly after for his routine. Elia freshened up and got dressed in a gown of black, red, and gold, ready for the day.

Elia descended the winding stairs and walked out of the tower into the open, along with Rhaenys who was being carried by one of her handmaidens. The sun had risen above the walls of Maegor's Holdfast, bathing the courtyard with yellow sunlight. Her ladies-in-waiting had already gathered for breakfast in the Maidenvault when she reached there. They all approached Elia on seeing her and greeted her with pleasantries about mornings and springs. Elia responded with greetings of her own. Rhaenys had her cheeks kissed and pulled playfully by many of them. Rhaenys was liking it, so Elia didn't mind. Most of what these ladies did was often harmless anyway. They had come from Houses all over the realm, most of them  _child-women_  between ages of twelve and eighteen, innocent at heart and eager to please the elders, but always intent on one-uping each other to make themselves look better, often in mean ways.  _They'll learn with time, and if the gods are good it will be a kind lesson._

The only one amongst them whom Elia found different, and whose company she actually cherished was Lady Ashara. Elia had known the young lady of House Dayne ever since she was a girl at play in the Water Gardens. Ashara was sixteen, three years junior to Elia, but their time together in Dorne had made them fast friends.

"Where is Lady Ashara," she asked Alerie Blackmont as they took their seats at the breakfast table. Elia was at the head, Rhaenys was seated beside her on a raised chair, while a spot was saved for Ashara on her left. "I don't see  _her_  amongst you."

"I don't know," Alerie shrugged. "I didn't see her either this morning."

"That's because you sleep like a cow," said Falyse Stokeworth, as Elia was tying a napkin around Rhaenys's neck. It had taken Elia some time to remember their names. Alerie Blackmont with dusky skin and tall stature, Falyse with a pinched face and blonde hair, and the others. "You should see her Princess," Falyse addressed Elia. "She's always the last one to wake up." Falyse broke into simmering yet mean laughter, and many joined in. Rhaenys heard them and started her own squeals of delight in mimicry. Elia didn't like that at all.

"What is so wrong with that," Elia said to put out the shallow mirth. "She's here in time isn't she." That was how it was amongst them, Falyse Stokeworth was the leader of the Crownlanders, while Alerie Blackmont represented the Dornish. Elia was bored to tears of this rivalry. Her eyes went to Falyse's right side, where her younger sister Lollys was sitting quietly, like a plump scared little thing that she was.  _One of these days I mean to do something for her._

Falyse struggled desperately to come up with a reply. "You should see her your grace. The way she snores."

"I don't snore," Alerie chided. "I have never snored in my life. Know your place Stokeworth!"

"Why you.."

Elia had had enough. " _Enough,"_ She said sharply, and the young ladies quieted down. "Can someone tell me about the whereabouts of Lady Dayne?"

"Who knows," Myla Toland, another Dornishwoman of seventeen years, said. "May be she is with Ser Myles. Perhaps he did win her over after all." The girls around her giggled. It was common knowledge that the young knight of House Velaryon desired Ashara.  _They all desire her. T_ his one was different though, or so it had appeared to everyone. Elia knew better.

They loaded their dishes with food; porridge, milk, honey, fruit, and fried fish. Elia mashed up some fruit and eggs for Rhaenys. Her milk teeth were yet to grow out fully, so hard food was out of question for her.

Elia was chewing on some fried fish when Ashara finally appeared at the door. Elia couldn't help but smile as she walked towards them, beautiful and regal as ever. She was fully dressed and groomed, wearing a violet gown that brought out her eyes.

"Where had you been," Alerie Blackmont asked with mischief. "Our Princess was looking for you everywhere."

"Was she," Ashara said as she walked towards them. "I am not that late." She played with Rhaenys's hair as she walked by, and sat beside Elia.

"Well you  _are_ never late, in general," Alerie's voice was dangerously sweet. Almost everyone was listening intently, except Elia who was rolling her eyes. "And clearly you have been out of Maegor's Holdfast. Your shoes are all dirty." Elia looked down at Ashara's shoes. Except for some specks of dirt she didn't see anything wrong. "Perhaps," Alerie continued, "you were late because someone special took your... _time?_ "

Ashara raised an eyebrow, and a look of mischief passed through her face. "Why yes," she said cheerfully. "My brother."

" _Your brother?"_ Alerie sputtered.

"Yes sweet Alerie," Ashara smiled with mirth. "I got a raven scroll from him this morning. He is in Harrenhal remember? He sent a letter from there to me along with one addressed to the Prince."

"How sweet of him," Elia said as she fed Rhaenys some blood orange. "And here Doran writes to me only when his maester reminds him to."

"He does have an expensive wife, Prince Doran," Celia Fowler said. "One can't blame him."

Elia gave her a look, and the girl gulped and rescinded. "What did brave Ser Arthur write?"

"Mostly about himself," Ashara's voice turned whimsical as she placed food on her plate. "How safe his journey was, how  _tall_  the towers of Harrenhal rise up in the sky, how  _beautiful_  the women in the Riverlands are, and how lovely the realm looks during early spring." Her eyes again sparked in mischief. "Oh, and I almost forgot, there is going to be a great tourney in Harrenhal."

" _What?_ " A collective shout came from around the table. Ashara looked up from her breakfast. "What," she asked sweetly.

Elia almost laughed out loud. She of course herself knew all about it, Rhaegar had decided this in her presence together with his trusted Kingsguard. The great tourney would serve as a front where he'd talk to all the great lords about the madness of her goodfather, and devise a plan for the future.

"What tourney," Jenny Rosby asked.

"Oh that," Ashara said with innocence. "Lord Whent has decided to organise a tourney, to show how prosperous his house has become in the last twenty years since he foiled the  _Legion's_  plans. He has invited all the Lords, along with all the handsome knights of the Seven Kingdoms to participate. It'd be quite an event."

The eyes of the girls lit up. "Will we be allowed to go," they asked Elia.

"I don't see why not," Elia smiled with amusement. "I will have to thank Lord Walter, his one event will get you all married and out of my hair." The girls laughed nervously.

They had finished their breakfast when Elia heard footsteps behind her. She turned to find the seasoned face of Ser Barristan Selmy.

" _Ser Barristan_ ," Lady Ashara greeted before anyone else. "How are you this morning?"

The knight smiled a thin yet genuine smile. "I am good, Lady Ashara." His face turned to Elia. "Pardon Princess, for interrupting your breakfast, but we can't find Prince Rhaegar anywhere. Perhaps you know where he is."

"I don't," Elia answered. "Isn't the breakfast for the Lords served in the Small Council chambers?"

"He was there at breakfast," he spoke in a measured tone, "but he left soon after, and the King started asking for him out of nowhere. Perhaps his new spymaster whispered something in his ear, about the Prince, after which he became impatient." The knight grimaced, and Elia shared his emotion. Varys the Eunuch had that vibe around him, which the honest men and women seldom liked. The word 'impatient' was obviously a euphemism. "We looked for him everywhere, even here in Maegor's Holdfast, except for.."

"Our bedchamber," Elia completed his statement. Knights of the Kingsguard refrained from going there. "I will go check on him for you. Alyssa," she called the young Lady Ryker, "keep an eye on Rhaenys for me." The girl agreed with a toothy smile.

"I can come with you Princess," said the knight, apologetic about making Elia get up from her cozy seat. "It is no trouble. Ser Jonothor Darry is guarding the moat."

"Oh no I insist," Elia said. "Let me go see. Lady Ashara will keep you company."

"Why of course I will," Ashara got up from her chair with a bright smile.

Elia smiled as she walked off. It was endearing to see those two with each other.  _They both can never be together, with Ser Barristan being a knight of the Kingsguard. But I am sure they both understand that. Vows can't be broken for the whims of the heart._

Elia and Rhaegar's bedchamber was at the top of a two storeyed tower on the eastern end of Maegor's Holdfast. On the first floor there were the servant's quarters and the nursery. To get to the floors one had to climb a winding staircase which opened at sides at the two floors. Elia lifted her skirts as she started climbing the stairs. She could hear voices from the first floor. The servants were still in their chamber apparently.

But as she climbed more stairs she realized that the voices were coming out of the nursery. There were two persons, speaking to each other, and one of them was Rhaegar.  _What in the name of Seven?_ She moved closer, to get a better listen.

"Are you sure no one can hear us here," said the unknown voice, a deep male voice flavored with Eastern accent.

"Yes," said Rhaegar. "No one spies on babies. Tell me what else you want to say.."

"The  _company_  is getting impatient," said the foreign voice.

"We have only had one and a half months of spring," Rhaegar replied in his Kingly voice. "Is your  _company_  a bunch of willful children? Is your Lady going soft? From what I remember, she is quite a person."

"There is nothing wrong with Lady Rhaenyra," the other man said with anger. "She is well, and strong, but we are not so sure about you. We want to know what you are doing my Prince," the man asked, as Elia moved closer on the winding stairs. "A  _tourney? A_   _bloody_ tourney? A game where a bunch of boys swat each other with  _sticks_."

"That  _game_ will bring in all the lords of Westeros," said Rhaegar. "That is a good start."

"The  _Lords_ are  _not_  to be trusted," the man rasped. "Don't you know anything? They are leaches, you hear me,  _leaches_. And if you think you can get them on your side, then you are as big a fool as.."

The man was interrupted by a savage blow from Rhaegar. Elia's eyes widened in shock when she heard the impact, and she almost burst into the room. He grunted and stumbled backwards. "Talk to me  _that_  way again,  _go on_ ," Rhaegar hissed in a voice that made her blanch even more. For a moment she couldn't recognize her own husband. He had lost all of its characteristic warmth, and sounded more like a totally different man, a very hard man. "This is my roof, and you will show me respect."

The man spat out blood. "Why yes Prince Rhaegar," he said. "But know this, I will not let you forget this insult."

"Good. I would want that you don't forget this," Rhaegar pushed with gritted teeth. "Lemmings like you should know their place. Anything else, or do you want to  _scurry_  back to your Lady?"

"What am I to tell her," he asked. "My lady wants to know in full. What are your plans?"

"Tell Rhaenyra," Rhaegar said, "that I share the same goals as she does, as you and all the rest of her followers do. But we can't go too much against the order in place. Destruction of lordly powers would mean chaos; and too much chaos brings death. Death is already in store for us when the Long Night comes. Until we get the Prince who was Promised, and our course becomes clearer, we can't make a move."

"And how are we supposed to get the  _Prince who was Promised_ ," the man asked. "Your Dornish wife almost died when she whelped your daughter. Can she survive another childbirth?" Elia's eyes widened.

Another savage punch, and this time she heard the man fall backwards and land on the crib. " _Know...your...place,_ " Rhaegar growled with the anger of a dragon. " _Get out of my sight_!"

Before Elia could move the man walked out of the room, a grizzled man dressed like a common servant sworn to House Targaryen, with a painfully swollen jaw. He paused to give her a look, and walked downstairs, doning a scarf to hide his jaw.

Rhaegar was storming out angrily, but finding Elia outside the door made him stop. Her angry eyes burned into him as he stood there, stunned and grounded to the spot.

"The King is looking for you," Elia said, and descended the winding stairs.

* * *

**Thank you for reading!**


	4. Wintertown: Lyanna I

**Hello! Here's the new chapter!** **Hope you like it**

** Chapter 3 **

The white raven had flapped its wings in the Maester's rookery about two months ago. Following the cue the Northmen had accepted the Southron declaration of change of season, as they had always done. But what did the South know of winter, of  _real_ winter? The Starks of Winterfell professed to be a part of the Seven Kingdoms, but the North's way was different, had always been.

Wintertown had woken up to fresh snow in the morning, three or so inches deep. Impressive for  _springtime,_ but nowhere near enough to scare a Northerner. Men and women had scoffed at the poor show and moved out to duty. Once they were out of the house they were greeted to Wintertown, a city of a thousand scattered houses, huts, and guilds, located south west of Winterfell, the ancestral home of House Stark. Gone was the ragtag village that had existed twenty years ago when the Waywatchers had first come there, the group of Southron reformers who had been rejected and banished from their homes. A  _real '_ town' had grown around the village, as more people came and settled around haphazardly. A visitor from Bravos or Oldtown would gape on seeing the chaos and disorder that was visible around him; mushroom like houses, unplanned and unpaved streets, families who had little idea of how to live together with strangers, and what not. But soon enough he'd come to marvel this eccentricity, the order the inhabitants seemed to find in this chaos, the life that existed and ran through the disorganized streets, and the change this nascent city was pumping into the North, and the world as a whole. A new world awaited them all, and the North will lead the way.

A mosaic of chatter ran through the sunlit Wintertown streets. More people were moving in everyday, making the chaos ever present. The city order was looked after by the  _WolfWatch_ , the small Citywatch of Wintertown banded together by Lord Rickard. They were a bunch of misfits clad in grey cloaks, but organized and supervised well by the Waywatchers. Called the 'Greycloaks' by the commoners, they could be seen dotted all over the city, looking out for trouble and stopping it in the bud.

One such trouble seemed to be brewing up near the middle of the city, at the baker's shop near the street's turn. A young yet grizzled woman clad in dirty roughspun attire was having a disagreement with a Greycloak, while some locals looked on with curiosity.

"What is  _wrong_  with you woman," said Ervin the Greycloak. "Were you born yesterday? You can't just take stuff from the shop. You gotta pay for it."

"I am hungry, and he has enough bread to feed a village," said the woman, her willowy figure defiant. "I heard people get what they want in this place."

"Oh  _yeah_ ," scoffed Rykan, another Greycloak. "It doesn't work that way. Cmon, off you come to the common house.." his arm moved to guide the woman to the 'common house', a building for new refugees.

The woman flinched away hard. "Touch me and I'll cut your balls off," she hissed with fiery eyes, and Rykan paled. "I want.."

"What do you  _want,_   _woman_ ," Ervin drawled. "You want to steal things from the honest people here," he pointed at the affronted breadmaker, "and you don't want to go to common house. I say we don't want  _you_  here." Ervin unsheathed his sword and pointed it at her. "I say you go back where you came from. You are nothing but trouble."

"NOO," she wailed, and jerked away hard from the sword. Her defiance act had vanished when the sword was drawn, to reveal a very frightened woman. A little girl had been hiding behind her skirts, and on seeing the sword she had come out from behind, glaring hard at the guard. The woman lifted up the girl, as if to prevent her from doing something stupid. "I can't go outside," she pleaded, hugging the child tight. "Please! There are those men there."

"What  _men_ ," asked Ervin.

"Then go to the common house," said Rykan, his voice soft after seeing the girl child.

"There...there are men there as well," the woman seemed close to tears. "I can't go..."

" _What is going on here,"_  a voice came from behind and cut through the cacophony, cool and firm. Everyone turned their heads. the Greycloaks, the woman, and the others, to look towards the source.

A tall young  _Lady_  on horseback was looking at them from the street's turn. Two other horsemen stood there flanking her, one dressed in a homely grey garb, while other wearing expensive grey clothes, both members of the  _Waywatchers_. The lady was clad in grey as well, long grey doublet and woolen riding breaches, and a fur cloak held and clasped below her neck with a brooch emblazoned with a snarling direwolf, the sigil of the overlords. Instantly everyone's heads bowed down, except for the horror-stricken woman who was still clutching the child. "Lady Lyanna," everyone chorused.

"Stay here," Lya said to Horas and Damen on her sides. She dismounted and walked forward, taking in the whole scene around her. A bunch of curious watchers, an angry baker, two armed watchmen, one with an unsheathed sword, and a frightened woman and child. She addressed the Greycloak close to her. "What is happening here?"

"Rykan at your service, m'lady," the watchman said, and bowed his head again. "We heard of some trouble here, and found that this woman," he pointed at the frightened woman, "was trying to snatch bread and pies from the cook here. We were just dealing with her."

"Dealing with her how," she pointed at Ervin's unsheathed sword. "Since when has the Wolfwatch started to threaten defenseless women with steel?"

Ervin flushed. "Pardon, m'lady, but the woman, she was stealing. She is stubborn, and insolent..."

Lya gestured him to be quiet, which he did with a gulp. Her gaze turned to the woman. She appeared to be the same age as Lya, but her face looked old beyond her age. Lya's eyes went to the child clutched at her bosom, a frail frightened girl of five. Her blonde hair were tied into a single braid, like the woman's own blonde braid, and Lya's brown one. The fear in her eyes troubled Lya.

"Is this your child," she asked the woman, keeping her voice firm yet gentle.

"She's my sister, lady," the woman uttered, still clutching the girl tightly, tears threatening to spill out of her grey eyes.  _Northern eyes._ "Do you have a name," Lya asked.

"I am called Dalla, lady," she said.

Lya walked closer to her. Horas and Damen protested from behind, but Lya walked forward anyway. Dalla and the child were looking at her with wariness. "And what is her name," she gestured towards the girl.

"Val," the girl said timidly. "I am called Val, lady."

Lya smiled at the child. "Where do you both come from," she asked.

The woman hesitated. "North of here. The..mountains."

 _Hill tribes._ "Why did you not follow the Watchmen to the common house," Lya asked.

"I ...can't go there," Dalla said. She was frightened, her face hiding a thousand insecurities.

"Why not," asked Lya.

"Too many...," the woman struggled to answer. "Too crowded..I can't."

Lya took a decision. "Come with me then," she said.

"Lady?"

"Come with me," Lya repeated. "We have promised refuge to all who come here. You came here seeking safety didn't you?" With care she offered her leather clad hand to Dalla, which she took hesitantly. Some of the fear fled her eyes, and the brimming tears were allowed to run down. "Go back to your duties," Lya roughed up her voice and called out to everyone. "She is under my protection." Everyone bowed their head and went back to work.

They moved to Lya's horse and companions, Dalla keeping up with her with nimble steps. "Tell me truly," Lya said. "Are you running from someone?"

Dalla didn't answer. "I won't be able to help you unless you answer me," Lya pushed.

Dalla gulped despite Lya's assuring look. She placed Val back on the ground, taking hold of one of her little hands. "We were coming to this place. I had heard in Mo...my village that you get food and work and shelter here. On the way..," Dalla was frightened again. She glanced nervously at Val, who was giving them a haunted look.

 _A child shouldn't have that look on her face. "_ Damen," Lya called her companion. "Take Val and buy her some fruit tart from the baker's, the very best one. Make sure she isn't hungry." Damen dismounted and walked towards them, offering a hand to Val.

" _No_ ," Dalla raised alarm, and started moving back to clutch her sister.

"It is  _fine_ ," Lya assured the frightened woman. "He will pay for it. She is safe now.  _You both_ are safe now! I promise you, on my honor." Dalla was still defiant. "Damen is one of the finest man I know," she added. "He is kind, and good, and is sworn to my father. He is taking her to the baker right there," she pointed towards the shop from where Dalla had tried to steal. "They won't be out of sight."

"I will keep her safe good lady," said Damen. "On my honor as a Waywatcher. We live to serve the realm."

When Dalla relented, Damen took Val's hand gently and walked her towards the Baker's. The child was hungry despite everything, and she readily took his hand. When they were safely away, Lya gestured Dalla to sit on a nearby empty bench. "Go on," Lya said kindly, dreading what she was about to hear.

Dalla's lips were pressed tight. "We were following the road," the woman said and choked, more tears appearing in her eyes. "We didn't find an inn, and we were caught out in the open at night, so we thought of resting near the Wolfswood. But there were some m..men, they found us. We..were taken, They didn't steal me, we were just taken! They picked us up like sheep, and carried us to the forests. They ….took me,"

Lya's eyes widened, and her throat went dry. More tears appeared in the woman's eyes. "They took me, and m..made her watch. She screamed and cried...as I did. I don't think she even understood what was happening. I saw her face, how scared she was, but I couldn't ...help her." Dalla hid her face under her palms and sobbed openly. "They were planning to keep us with them," she said from behind her palms. "They wanted to...wait till she grows up, and keep her with them, and me. We.. were there for two nights," Dalla seemed to have run out of words.

"You escaped," Lya finished the horror for Dalla, but Dalla seemed to be past caring. Her face was still buried in her palms, refusing to show or look up at anyone. It was a pitiful sight, and without thinking Lya pulled Dalla into an embrace; and just like that  _the_  Lady Lyanna Stark was embracing a common peasant out in the open. Many stared, but Lya paid them no mind. "I don't care how, but you escaped. It is all behind you," Lya consoled. Dalla's clothes smelled awful, and her tears were dampening Lya's cloak and doublet, but Lya held on to her. "You are safe now," Lya whispered into her ear. "No one will harm you now Dalla. Now wipe your tears." In response Dalla flung her arms around Lya and hugged her even tighter, and Lya was again assaulted by the awful stench of Dalla's clothes, but she let Dalla hold her. Dalla pulled away soon, and wiped her face.

"Where did this happen," Lya asked after a pause.

"S..some leagues to the north east," she sniffed.

"I will talk to my father, and have men sent there.  _Justice_  will be done." said Lya. Dalla didn't say anything, she just gave her a grateful look.

Damen returned with Val soon. The child was munching hungrily at a sweet pastry, her lips caked with red filling. The sight was so silly, silly and refreshing. "This is for you good woman," Damen produced some bread and gave it to Dalla. She took it hungrily and devoured it in a few bites, crumbs flying around on the street.

"Thank you Damen," Lya addressed her friend. "I want to trouble you with two more tasks."

"Name them my lady," said Damen, clasping an arm across his doublet emblazoned with the white wolf, the symbol of the Waywatchers.

"Find a horse, a gentle one, for our guests; then go to the common house and fetch Maggy."

"The septa, my lady?"

 _Not a septa anymore. A Waywatcher. "_ Aye, fetch her. She had left for the common house in the morning. I want her here, now."

Lya felt Horas's eyes watching her.  _He heard the whole thing._ She turned to Dalla. "You, you can't just take things from people. You aren't among the hilltribes anymore. In Wintertown we trade things. If you want something you need to give something for it."

"But I don't have anything," Dalla said.

"Everyone has something," said Lya. "Most people around you, they had little when they came. But they worked here, earned their keep, and today they are content and are growing stronger everyday. People here are stonemasons, farmers, blacksmiths, maesters, cooks, street and drain cleaners, laborers, even artists and scholars from the South and the East. They trade their skills and wares for their necessities." Lya paused. "Do you have any skill, Dalla?"

Dalla was afraid again. "I..I can sing well, Lady," she said after a pause.

Lya smiled. "That can work. How good are you?"

"I was the best in my village, lady." Dalla all but proclaimed, and some of the color seemed to return to her. Lya felt herself smile widely.

"I can see that," said Lya. "Your voice does have a certain..melody to it." A smile creeped on Dalla's face. "We are having a feast tonight," Lya added. "Many lords have come to Winterfell to celebrate the arrival of spring, and for other duller things. If you want, I can arrange for you to sing in front of the Lords."

Dalla's eyes widened. "The  _Lords?"_

"And Ladies," Lya said, "and Children, and the other residents. I also would love to hear you sing. If you do well then you can earn your keep easily. We always have had very few singers in Winterfell."

"I...will think on it, lady," said Dalla. Lya heard horse hooves from her side. Damen had arrived, along with a lone horse and Maggy riding beside him. She was a hard lean woman of five and twenty, twice widowed, once a septa in the South, and now serving Winterfell as a Waywatcher.  _Damen must have filled her in about the situation_. "Lady Lyanna," Maggy called with mischief. "Missing me already?"

"Keeping you away is hard Maggy," said Lya with a smirk. "You are  _such_ a resourceful person."

"How may I serve?"

"Dalla and Val here are under my protection." Lya gestured towards them "Escort them to the Servant's Keep. Help them get freshened up, and introduce them to the other women, the kind ones, not the mean ones. Some new clothes would be good."

"Sure," said Maggy. "It is not as if I have better things to do."

"Much appreciated," said Lya. She turned to Dalla. "Go with Maggy. She may appear rude, but she has a heart of gold."

"Why thank you Lady Stark," Maggy scoffed as Dalla and Val were mounting their horse. "Come on my love. Off you come with the rude woman."

"With a  _heart of gold_  remember," Lya called back with a chuckle. "Damen, go with them," she told her companion. "Some of the people in the Keep may need some persuading." Damen nodded and left with them.

Dalla gave Lya one last look before riding off to Winterfell, her eyes grateful and trusting as a doe. When they rounded the street's turn Lya let out a hot sigh, and slumped back on the bench, her head hung down. Horas dismounted from his horse, and sat beside her. "That was a brave thing you did. But just a warning Lya," he said. "We can't take too many commoners inside the castle. Everyone will want in if it goes like this. Lord Stark may also not like it. We are full already."

Lya bristled with anger as she looked at Horas. "Don't you think I know that," she said. "What would you have had me do? You heard what happened to her. She was scared half to death of staying in a place crowded with men."

Horas didn't speak more about it. "You still want to go," he asked instead, his voice concerned. That was when Lya remembered the reason she had come out in Wintertown, the same reason she used to come to Wintertown once every week. Her spirits fell, but Lya stood up. "Let's go," she said, choosing to be brave.

Horas helped her mount her horse, and she thanked him for it. It was very easy for him, given his tall stature. Horas was the son of Master Addam, the head of the  _Waywatchers,_  one of those who had come from the South twenty years ago. Lya's older brothers were mostly away from home, and Benjen was too young; and in their place Horas had been Lya's constant companion and a trusted friend, for as long as she could remember. They were both fourteen when autumn ended, and had been of the same height. Everyone thought that Horas would remain short like his father. But winter saw him grow tall, taller than all the boys of the North, even Brandon. Now he stood at six feet and four inches tall, about half a foot taller than Lya.

Together they made their way to their destination. "This has been an eventful morning hasn't it," Horas tried to lighten the mood. "Breaking fast with the whole grumpy nobility of the North, all buzzing away angrily, and now this."

"You don't know the half of it," Lya said. It had been eventful indeed, not that Horas would know what she had in mind. Lya had dreamed again last night, the same vision-like dreams that showed her fantastical things, that always jolted her awake with fear, and tingling excitement.  _Bleeding stars, Ice and Fire mingling, a kiss by the lakeside, NO!_ Lya pushed the visions aside. She had decided that she wouldn't think about them, no matter how frequently they come, no matter how hard it would become. Once the visions had made her feel special and … something higher than others. That was when she was a wilful child, and didn't know anything.

"I do know things, you know," said Horas, his handsome face playful. "I did see Roose Bolton making eyes at you at breakfast. That was quiet...unappetizing to watch." He snorted.

"He wasn't making eyes at me," Lya exclaimed, and for a moment or so she forgot her dreams and her woes. Horas often made her do that, he had a knack for it. "That is just how he talks to everyone! I think he is uptight," she said.

"I doubt it," said Horas. "Believe it or not, but he gives me the creeps. You must know that the young widower asked for your hand in marriage yesterday, in exchange for Dreadfort adopting the  _North's Way._ That didn't go anywhere, obviously."

"Aye," said Lya. "But from what I know, and saw, he was civil enough about it. Had it been an Umber who'd been denied then he'd have flung aside the tables and shouted hoarse for hours."

"Hah," Horas smirked. "But Bolton had to be civil. Who wouldn't be? When your rival is Robert Baratheon, the wise thing to do is to smile and bow out," Horas chuckled, and Lya managed a sporting smile for him. They rounded another corner, moving past factories where Northern goods were being loaded in carts, sourced from all over the North, to be deported to White Harbor for shipping.

"Boltons and Starks have married in the past, so the proposal wasn't...outrageous, as many seem to believe," Lya chose to keep talking. "This isn't the Age of Heroes." They were nearing their destination now, which was making Lya feel more and more uneasy. Talking with Horas wasn't doing enough to distract her from the dread, and the shame.

"But a Bolton marriage proposal can't even compare to an alliance with Storm's End, especially given what we want for our kingdom. Also, he has a son, Domeric I think, from his first wife."

"True," Lya conceded. "He  _has_  to adopt  _North's Way_  some day, or the unbound peasants will keep fleeing the Bolton lands." Finally their destination came into view, a strong stone and brick house built on Lya's orders, to house a family of four.  _Once_   _five,_ Lya remembered, shame bubbling up once again.  _They were once five._  Her shaking hands tightened around the reins. She looked at Horas, whose square jaw was tight as he looked ahead. _He feels bad too, despite it not being his doing._

The onlookers' gaze was on them when she knocked on the thin plank door. "Who's there," a woman's alarmed voice came from inside.

"It's Lyanna, Uma," Lya almost whispered.

Some shuffling, clattering of utensils, and the door opened. Uma's mousy brown hair had loosened from her braid and were sticking out. Her face was unnerved, as it always was whenever Lya visited her.

"M'lady," the much older woman stuttered, and bowed her head; Lya felt shame rushing up her throat.

"How..how are you," Lya asked.

"I am good. The Gods are good," she said. "My boys are stronger than ever. Thank you for everything m'lady."

"You don't need to thank me," Lya said. "How ...how is Alyn?" Uma and Alyn were man and wife, married with two children, boys of seven and nine. Lya couldn't recall their names. That made her even sadder, but she kept a straight face.

"He..his legs still hurt, m'lady," Uma said. "But he is strong. He is out helping in the fields."

"That is good," Lya said. "And how is Mel?" Mel was Uma's younger sister, a woman of seventeen, eight years junior to Uma.

"She is happy. Her husband treats her well."

"If you need anything, I am always here for you," Lya said, like she always used to say whenever she visited. She reached in one of her pockets, and produced a small pouch, containing three silver stags. "This is for you," she offered the pouch to Uma.

Uma's eyes widened, and her mouth opened and closed. With shaking hands Uma took the pouch. "Thank you m'lady," she said, and bowed.

It was all Lya could do to not scream.  _Must you always shame me woman?_ _I ruined your life. You don't get to bow to me!_ Lya rushed back to her horse, Horas following in earnest.

The journey back was a blur for Lya. She rode in silence. Horas gave her sideways glance at times, but apart from that he chose to stay silent. They were halfway back to the castle when he finally spoke.

"You don't need to come here Lya," he said. "From now on just send me, or some other person. Damen is always eager to please, send him instead."

Lya looked at Horas. "I am a Northerner Horas," she replied. "The man who passes the sentence should swing the sword."

"This isn't an execution."

" _No_  it isn't, I know," Lya retorted. "Don't you understand? The saying isn't about executions. It is about something more, about not hiding from yourself and your actions, knowing and having the courage to face the consequences, no matter what.  _That_ is the Northern way. The  _Stark_  way." Their ride came to a halt. An apple merchant had toppled his basket in the way ahead, his harvest having spilled all over the street. They both stopped to not trample them while he picked them up. "What I did four years ago.."

"You didn't do anything. It wasn't your fault Lya," Horas interrupted her.

"What _I_  did," Lya pushed, "costed that family so much. If I don't face my deeds and just forget them, and I am no better than a perfumed Southerner. I must remember Uma, and her husband, and his brother."

"You weren't alone Lyanna," Horas said. "I was there too. You can't judge yourself guilty forever. You don't need to...be sad always."

"What, are you saying I need to  _smile_  more? " Lya scoffed with a bitter taste in her mouth. "Do you know, Robert Baratheon beds  _whores_. He has been at it since the day he became a man. He already has a bastard daughter, begotten from one of his brothel women. Ned knows it, even father knows it, yet they are pushing the match on me all the same." Horas was stunned to silence. The apple seller was still picking up his apples, throwing apologetic glances and nervous smiles at them. "Some say that it is for the better. A man should know his way around in the marriage bed they say." Lya almost spat. "He might be  _fucking_  away at a brothel even now as we speak. Makes me  _sick_!"

"He might change once you get married."

"Ned said the same thing," said Lya. "He said that Robert is already half in love with you. All he knows of me is that I please his eyes, and he says he  _loves_  me!"

"You can reject it."

"Can I," Lya threw back. "House Stark needs the support of the Stormlands."

"You need  _happiness_  in your life Lya."

"Look around you Horas," Lya said. "Look at Dalla and her sister, think of Uma and her family, her husband and good brother, what happened to them. Those people work hard everyday to make ends meet. For them happiness is a full stomach and a warm bed, and protection from tyrant lords, something we take for granted. There's still half a chance that Robert would turn good after we wed, and if not," Lya hesitated, "then I wouldn't be the first woman who isn't happily married. It will be for the good of everyone."

"Lya..."

She didn't listen to him. The path had been cleared, so she rushed forward, eager to end the conversation. Her eyes were stinging, and memories appeared in front of them.  _Sound of clubs beating down. Women screaming, children crying._ Lya shook her head to jerk them away. She prayed to the Gods above, asking for strength to push away the memories, to push away the troubles.

She passed through the gates of Winterfell, heading straight for the stables. Many lords and nobles turned towards her in anticipation of a greeting, but Lya rushed past them. When she was finally in her chamber she threw off the heavy grey cloak and the Stark brooch, and slumped backwards on her bed.  _It is time to shrug this off, I am expected downstairs in an hour, ,_ she told herself,  _till the next week I need to shrug it off_. She could go to the armory and practice her swordplay with Horas or the other Waywatchers, or go to the tourney grounds to ride freely. Those always made made her feel truly alive. She could even go and watch the other women knit clothes, and even practice some with them. But her legs refused to move, so down she stayed.

Lya pushed the memories, but her stupid mind went from one unsettling thing to the other one.  _Ice and fire meeting, Ice and fire fighting, kiss by the lakeside, battle by the riverside, a baby born in storm, another in the sun. NO!_ Lya shouted out loud.  _I won't think of this. I can't._

She had long ago made peace with the fact that she won't marry for love. It'd be a political match, to further the interests of her family. Yet out of all the young lords of Westeros she was set up with Robert fucking Baratheon, and was told of it only after it was finalised. She had hated her father and brother that day, and might have hurt them or worse had Brandon not stopped her. Was it too much to ask for a good man as a husband, even if she was living a far better life than most people on the world, warm and content? Like every little girl she had also once dreamed of a handsome charming man who'd take her far away and they'd live happily in a beautiful castle. The dream had faded with age, but the desire had clinged to her even after all the things that had happened. The desire of a faithful companion, and a happy life.

The only dreams that remained with her, and visited her often, also seemed to agree with her, in their own different way. They were grand, fantastical, seductive; they were hardly comprehensible, but one message screamed at her right through their inexplicity.  _You are not meant for a regular life of marrying and furthering your interests,_ they seemed to say.  _There are far bigger things in the world than you know, beyond the comprehension of the common men and women. You are and have always been, meant for the greater things._

* * *

 

" _My lords,"_ Lord Rickard Stark stood up from his seat at the the centre of the concave table on the dais. " _My ladies! Waywatchers, merchants, scholars, servants,"_ he addressed them all. "Before we begin this splendid spring feast and lose our senses to good food and ale, there are some thing we need to know and get past."

The hall was lit with all the candles in Winterfell, and was packed with people. The Northern banners adorned the wall behind the dais. The grey direwolf of Stark highest of all. Below it came the Houses who had come to accept and implement the North's way, then all the rest houses. Maester Walys had protested against this segregation, but Lord Rickard listened to  _Master_  Addam of the Waywatchers instead.  _Master and Maester, they both hold much sway here._

Lya watched as every head in front of her turn towards her father, eager to know what was discussed in the last two days amongst the Lords and the head Waywatchers. It all had been garbed in black secrecy, and now it was the moment of reveal.

"When autumn had ended four years ago," said father, his voice cheerful and approachable, "the  _North's way_  had been strong, thanks to our friends of Waywatchers here." Father pointed towards them on the table, "It took into its fold many smallfolks and enabled them to become better, and in the process made our beloved Kingdom stronger and more powerful, and also the Starks very rich." People laughed at the remark, and father smiled along. "Many noble houses had helped us Starks in our honorable endeavors. First came Lord Manderly, bless him. He helped us make trade pacts with the Free Cities and the Vale, to help us sell our things there! Then Lord Flint, Lord Cerwyn, the Late Lord Hornwood and the Late Lord Tallhart of Torrhen's Square. But that was a long time ago, and if one is honest to himself then the passing time always brings progress. I am pleased to annouce that in the past two days our family has grown. First, House Ryswell of the Rills has accepted the North's Way."

A round of cheer went through the hall, and Lord Ryswell smiled from his seat. "You all know what that means my friends," said father. "Lots of horses will be sent to Wintertown, so get ready to shovel some dung." Everyone laughed again.

"Next, we have House Glover of Deepwood Motte, who have accepted our ways. They will be getting supplies and advisers from Wintertown, to set up trade and improve farm produce. They'll soon grow richer and abler, a valuable member of our family. The people of Deepwood Motte can be very rich! They have iron and ore to give to the world, and not to mention, the brew of Deepwood Motte is strong and deep, hope the world is ready for it!"

Another cheer erupted from the Hall. "And lastly," said Lord Rickard. "My kin at Karhold, they have decided to come into the fold as well!"

Lya's eyes widened. _So House Dustin and House Bolton remain out even this time then,_  she wondered. Also, House Ryswell had joined and the Boltons had refused. Had Father managed to break their long held alliance? She turned to look at Roose Bolton. His lips were curled into a thin smile as he was watching her father with his pale white eyes.

"House Karstark will be provided silver to build a deeper port, so they can trade better. Sun of Winter will grow stronger, and the North with it!"

People cheered again. Lya looked at Roose again, and found that he had been looking at her. She smiled at him, and he smiled back in a way that made Lya uneasy.  _Horas was right. That man is creepy._ Was Roose Bolton really after her hand in marriage, in exchange for coming into the fold?

"And finally," said Lord Rickard. "A different news, from the South! This morning I recieved a raven from Harrenhal. Lord Walter Whent is to organize a great tourney there in two months. So better start preparing if you want to go. Maester Walys will provide more details on that regard." Another cheer arose, followed by frenzied gossip.

"So," said Lord Rickard. "Now that we are done with this busy work, it is time for some softer activities. We Northerners are always short of singers, having to resort to our bawdy roarings while being in our cups." Laughter ensued again. "Luckily today, my daughter has found and welcomed to my castle, a singer."

The side door opened, and in walked Dalla. A bath and grooming had done wonders on her, and now she looked very nice. The fears and insecurities seemed to have been tucked behind, making her look wise, wiser than most.

"Dalla here, has a voice sweeter than the honeyed wine from the Reach," father announced. "Listen to her carefully friends, and marvel at the beautiful thing that life is."

Lya looked at the audience. There was Val sitting with other children at the front, and the rest. While many had an anticipative look on their faces, some looked disappointed.  _They wanted to hear 'Bear and the Maiden Fair' from a man, and to chorus loudly alongwith him._ Lya looked at Dalla. Her nervous eyes were already looking for Lya. Lya rose from her seat to let her know where she was. She gave her a warm smile, and an approving nod. Dalla's nervousness faltered, and she closed her eyes to sing.

_**Oh, I am the last of the giants,** _

Lya's eyes widened, so did everyone else's. That voice, it was so...pure, so haunting, so...wounded. Now Dalla had everyone's attention. Many leaned forward to get a better listen. Dalla sang further,

**Oh, I am the** _**last** _ **of the giants,**

**my people are gone from the earth.**

**The last of the** _**great** _ **mountain giants,**

**who ruled all the world at my birth.**

**The smallfolk have _stolen_  my forests,**

**they've stolen my rivers and hills.**

**They've built a great** _**wall** _ **through my valleys,**

**and fished all the fish from my rills.**

**In** _**stone** _ **halls they** _**burn** _ **their great fires,**

**in** _**stone** _ **halls they** _**forge** _ **their** _**sharp** _ **spears.**

**Whilst I walk** _**alone** _ **in the mountains,**

**with** _**no** _ **true companion but tears.**

**They hunt me with** _**dogs** _ **in the daylight,**

**they hunt me with torches by night.**

**For men who are small, they can** _**never** _ **stand tall,**

**whilst giants still walk in the light.**

**Ooooh, I am the** _**LAST** _ **of the giants,**

**so learn well the** _**words** _ **of my song.**

**For when I am** _**gone** _ **all the singing will fade,**

**and the silence shall last long and long.**

The song ended, but no one wanted it to. People were leaning dangerously forward, wanting to get more of the angelic voice. Lya was grounded to the spot, with tears in her eyes.

Dalla opened her eyes, and gave a shy miniature bow to the audience. The first one to react was her father. He rose from his seat and broke into a loud applause. Then the Lords and Waywatchers, and then all the rest. They rose from their seat and clapped loudly. Many cheered, but some were too numb to utter a sound.

Lya saw Dalla smiling and crying as she rushed out of the door. Lya took her leave and followed her.

"Where are you going," she called from behind. Dalla turned to face her.

"My work is done, lady," she said with a choked voice.

"We still have the feast, remember? Do you mean to sleep hungry?"

"Lady..."

"No one sleeps hungry in Wintertown," Lya said. "Now come. I will seat you with some good friends of mine."

* * *

 

Lya had a satisfied smile on her tired face as she turned in for the night. The day had ended on a very good note. Dalla had earned her place as a singer, and had been assigned a room.  _She can be happy again._  Father had sent men to catch to rapers, or purge the area of wrong doers at the very least. Lya's promise was fulfiled. If there was hope for Dalla, perhaps there was hope for others as well, for the refugees who were coming to the town, and the rest, even her in finding happiness after marriage. With this thought she drifted off to sleep.

The happy thoughts didn't follow her in her sleep. The dreams returned and found her as the night grew deep, pulling her mind away from her home and cozy bed, separating her from her earthly surroundings.  _An ice flake burned and mingled in with the raging Fire. A tall silver man kissed a woman by the lakeside. Dragons flew above a city, spewing hot fire everywhere. A white wall buckled under a storm from the North. Wintertown frozen in a long winter. A single black dragon plotting to burn the realm in red fire, and another black one trying to tame it from the West. The red dragon turned to look at her knowingly, and then he began to change. It twisted and changed into a human form, with fair skin, white hair and violet eyes. He was beautiful, looking at her with eyes full of love. The man faded away, to reveal new images. Suddenly she was flying, hurtling towards the North, beyond the Wall, far away from the realms of men into the Land of Always Winter. What she saw there made her scream and jolt violently._

Lyanna woke up with cold sweat on her brow.

* * *

 


	5. Edmun II

** Chapter 4 **

The training yard was abuzz with unruly clamor that evening. Martyn and Myles were going at it hard, circling and hacking at each other with their wooden swords. A bunch of watchers had gathered around them, most of them cheering for 'Martyn the Heir'. Edmun scoffed as he watched them from the gates of the armory as he knotted his bow. Myles seemed composed and focused on the job at hand, Martyn's face was lit with stupid pride, as if the whole realm had come to watch him play with practice swords.

He didn't like this part of the day much, for in the evenings his cousins and companions would swarm the training yard to practise swords, leaving Edmun behind. He had seen them fighting before, and he already knew Martyn would win, despite him acting like a pig. Martyn was tall and strong, and stupidly good at swordplay; and for all of Edmun's other cousins's good-hearted efforts Myles wouldn't be able to best Martyn. Apart from Hoster and Lucas not many remained to challenge Martyn after that. The lowborns were too scared to fight the Heir, and Edmun was worse than most when it came to swords. 'Maidenhands,' Martyn had called him once after swatting away Edmun's sword from his hands. Everyone had laughed, and the Master-at-arms had looked at Edmun disapprovingly. Edmun had never practiced swords with Martyn after that.

When his bow and quiver were ready, he turned his back on the sword trainees and moved towards the targets. The crowd there was much thinner, mainly soldiers trying a bout of archery like him. There was a faint breeze that evening, changing directions at whim. Edmun exhaled and relaxed his shoulders as he nocked an arrow, taking a note of the breeze as he adjusted his aim. The loosened arrow whistled through the air and landed on the target, some inches south of bull's eye. Edmun cursed.

He nocked another one.  _Archery is not passionate. It is cold, and calculating. A hotheaded person can never succeed in it._ With newfound inspiration Edmun shot the bow. The result was better this time, as he could see from yards away. Pleased, Edmun got ready for another one. He took his time before releasing, aiming for bull's eye. The arrow launched itself from his bow, and missed the target altogether.

"No! No! NOO!" Edmun shouted and threw the bow away, which landed on the floor with a sharp clatter.  _It wasn't supposed to be this way,_ he thought. He hadn't missed the target for many months, yet the sight in front of him was a mockery to all his achievements so far. Dejected, Edmun moved to pick up his bow, praying for the perfect shot this time.

"You are not doing it right lad," came a voice from behind. Edmun turned to see his father standing behind him, a tired smile on his face. "Your mind seems to be somewhere else."

"I always shoot it right. I have done it many times," Edmun said back as Father walked to him. "Why are you in the training yard father?"

"A man needs a break oftimes," replied father. He picked up Edmun's bow for him. "I thought coming to the training yard might be fun, watching my son as he practices." He smiled grimly. "I thought I'd find you over there with Martyn and the others practicing swordplay. I should've remembered that you prefer the bow."

Edmun hung his head. "I am no good at swords," he mumbled. "My hands, they just refuse to follow Ser Sylas's commands."

"You have told me that many times," Father said, not unkindly. "Look son, I don't want to force you into anything. You are wise you should understand it yourself." Edmun moved to take his bow, but Father kept it firmly in his hands. Edmun looked up at his father's face, which had lost its faint smile. "I am the third son of my father," Father's voice became stern. "And you are the son of the third son. Martyn would inherit everything, and to remain relevant you have to remain in his good books. No Son," Father interrupted his retort. "One of these days you have to understand how it is. You hear me? You have to be good at swords, no matter how much you loathe them. Knighthood comes from sword and lance, not arrows. No one sings any songs about bowmen." Father grimaced. "If you want to make something of yourself then you have to become a knight, and for that you must learn to fight with a sword. I won't always be here to support you, you have to become a man soon." He handed him the bow with a look.

Father walked away, leaving Edmun alone with the stupid bow, crestfallen and ashamed. The winter blizzards howled inside his head again, and he shivered with unease.  _Life isn't fair,_ he reminded himself.  _Grandfather will leave everything to Uncle Douglas, and he'll leave everything to Martyn._ The Rock of Aegon the Fifth flashed in front of his eyes, lying abandoned beside a frigid lake. He remembered the Legion, defeated and routed by his grandfather for no crime.

To clear his mind he pulled another arrow from the quiver. That was all he could do, for he couldn't find it in himself to shoot another arrow. He threw away the bow again and strode towards the sword training yard with newfound zeal.

He found Hoster there, getting ready to practice with his Lucas. Lucas was Lord Douglas Whent's other son, younger than Martyn by a year, but nothing like him. While Lucas was listening to instructions from a knight, Martyn was basking in admiration of those fawning at him. "Very good my lord," said Ser Sylas, the Master at Arms. "That was in quite a fashion you bested Lord Myles. Lord Walter would be proud for sure. He should arrange for you to squire for a Great Lord. Lord Tully, or Lord Lannister perhaps."

"Why not the King himself," said another knight who had been watching the swordplay. Edmun walked to stand before them, but no one took note.

"The King is mad," Ser Sylas said. "Perhaps the Prince."

"Ser Sylas," Edmun said out loud. "I wish to practice."

Now everyone was looking at him. The smirk on Martyn's face made Edmun want to gouge out his eyes. "Lord Edmun," said Ser Sylas, "haven't seen you here in a while."

"I wish to train," he repeated.

"Do you remember your lessons," the knight asked.

Edmun looked him in the eye. "I do," he said. "I can fight."

The knight couldn't refuse of course. "Very well. Lord Hoster, why don't you come and practice with Lord Edmun here."

Hoster was both puzzled and annoyed.  _Even he doesn't want to fight me._ Regardless, he obeyed and approached as Edmun took up his wooden sword and shield. They both took position and circled each other, looking for an opening.

 _Let him come to you,_ Edmun told himself.  _When he does I will close the distance and knock the sword aside, and tackle him down._ Edmun waited his shaking hands. Hoster finally came at him. Edmun lunged, but Hoster spotted his move in time and backed away. Edmun lost balance and almost fell down.

The laughter that followed was cruel to say the least, but Edmun didn't care. All he heard was Father's worried voice, asking him to become worthy for knighthood. This time he lunged and swung his sword. Hoster matched the blows with his own, his wrists and arms more wieldy than Edmun's own. He was looking at him with worry, Edmun realized.

Edmun moved to tackle him down. He glanced at Hoster's face, and for a moment he thought that he'd let him win. But Hoster sidestepped at the right moment and tripped him. Edmun fell down defeated on the sand, his sword flying away from his hand in a loop.

He could hear the laughter from Martyn and his lackeys, and for a moment he refused to budge up. He closed his eyes in shame, rebuking the tears that were threatening to show. "You alright Edmun," Hoster's voice came from behind, not unkind. Edmun turned and got up, dusting the sand from his doublet.

"Once a  _Maidenhands_ , always a  _Maidenhands_ ," said Martyn and chortled. "Why do you even try Edmun. Go inside and cut up some onions. Kitchen knives suit you better than swords."

Edmun's spirits were down, but he refused to take insults from his vile cousin. The Master at Arms was already rebuking Martyn. "Have some courtesy my lord," Ser Sylas said. "That is your cousin. Counsel him like an elder, don't mock him."

"Not kitchen knives," Edmun threw back. "Bows and arrows, they suit me better. Come have a match with me, let's see who wins."

Martyn bristled. He approached Edmun with heavy steps. He was two years older than Edmun, with more muscle and some inches more height, yet Edmun returned his gaze all the same.

"Bows are coward's weapon," he replied. "Cowards and weaklings like you, who don't have the strength or honor to fight with swords, and choose to kill from a distance with treachery."

" _Coward_ you are calling me." Edmun replied. "Here you stand bragging about winning against those you are already sure to win, and you call me a coward. Arrow or sword, you'd shit your breeches all the same when a real one comes at you."

Martyn's stupid face flushed with anger. He brought out his arms and pushed Edmun hard, making him topple and fall hard on the ground.

"That is enough my lords," the commanding voice of Ser Sylas rang through the twilight air. Martyn seemed to be thinking the same, as he had the same smirk he wore every time he successfully put someone down. Edmun got up and Martyn turned his back on him. "I think it fits," he called back as he dusted his doublet again. "Archery is for the smart, cold and calculating, not for foolish brutes like you, who push at those they can't beat."

Martyn turned at once, and rushed at him. Edmun did exactly what Hoster had done to him. He sidestepped when Martyn was on him, and tripped the bigger boy down. Martyn fell face first into the sand.

The yard was silent as a graveyard. Martyn got up and spat out sand, and started walking towards Edmun.  _Seven hells,_ Edmun couldn't help but cower. He started backing away.

"That is enough My lords!"

"Shut up!" Martyn rasped at Ser Sylas, as he continued walking towards Edmun.

Edmun turned to run away, but his leg caught on something and he lost his balance, falling for the third time in his small time in the training yard. Martyn turned him on his back, a look of mad glee on his face.

"Let's see who shits their breeches now," he said, and punched Edmun hard on the nose. Edmun winced and cried out pain as he felt blood filling his nostrils. Martyn's fist rose again, and took Edmun on the jaw this time. Edmun cried out again. Hoster, Lucas, and Myles moved to defend him, but Martyn's lackeys kept them away.

"Who are you going to call, little one, Mommy, or Papa?" Martyn mocked. "Or maybe sister Milly?"

Edmun saw his fist rising again.  _Not this time._ He spat hard at Martyn, landing a big blob of blood laced spittle right between his eyes. The brute's flinched and furiously wiped his face. Wanting to capitalize on the moment of distraction Edmun's hands rose to defend himself. He couldn't push Martyn off, and in a wild moment of desperation Edmun's hand moved to Martyn's groin. He caught what he felt there, and pressed hard.

Martyn's donkey like bellow of pain was heard throughout the yard. He launched himself away and fell backwards, whimpering and curling himself into a ball. Edmun rose up and spat out blood. He moved to Martyn, and with all his resentment and hurt, kicked him hard in the back.

He felt arms around him. Edmun was being pulled away. "What in the seven hells are you doing," he heard Warren's shout. Edmun watched as people bowed in front of Martyn, helping him to rise up. Martyn refused to get up though, Edmun noted with satisfaction.

The main hall was ablaze with turmoil before dinner. Edmun watched as his father and his uncle Douglas argued. It was their sons who had been involved in the fight after all. His Grandfather Lord Walter was also there, stroking his white beard as he watched the whole with wearing patience. Milly was sitting beside Edmun, as was his mother, Hoster, and Myles, even Lucas, who was Martyn's brother. They had seen what had happened in the yard, and had spoken in support of Edmun.

"A children's fight," Father declared to Lord Douglas, "that is all!"

"A children's fight you say," Uncle Douglas shouted. "Your savage boy nearly emasculated my son. Is this what he wants, that he can be the heir?"

"Stop saying these vile things brother," said Father. "Look at what Martyn did to his face. His nose is almost caved in, and his jaw is swollen. Listen to what everyone has to say for that. Martyn started the fight."

But Uncle Douglas wasn't done. "He attacked my son, the heir," he addressed Grandfather. "I want him punished!"

"Punish him how," Grandfather replied in his wizened voice from his seat. "I see both the boys are injured and bloody. I say we finish it here. If boys don't fight then they aren't boys," he declared. "We are to host a tourney soon, distractions like these can't be afforded."

"But he attacked the Heir," Lord Douglas's wife Lady Dana said defiantly. "This insolence can't go unpunished."

Edmun's mother Lady Gisella spoke as well. "Tormenting others can't go unpunished as well. That way  _Martyn_  should be punished."

"He is in bed with his back broken," Aunt Dana was angry. "Is that not punishment enough? And who are you to speak to me that way Gisella? Know your place!"

Edmun felt anger inside him on seeing his mother insulted. "Enough," Lord Walter shouted. "I will talk to the lad, see that he is taught a lesson. Everyone quiet down now!"

They all moved to the dinner table. Edmun's jaw was moaning in pain, and hard food was difficult to chew. He sucked at the soup and stew from his ladle, and could swear that his oldest uncle and aunt looked please when he did that.

When they were done Lord Walter spoke to him. "Edmun, meet me in the study in an half hour," he said, and walked away. Edmun gulped and looked at his father. He gave him a nod in support.

With a nervous gait Edmun walked towards his grandfather's study, unsure of what was to happen. He knocked on the tall oak gate when he was there. "Come in," came Lord Walter's voice. Edmun pushed open the gate. He was sitting behind his desk, the map of the Riverlands hanging beside the bookshelf behind his chair. Edmun walked forward. "May I sit Grandfather," he asked.

"You may," he replied after a pause. "I see you are polite enough, not the savage child your uncle professes to be."

Edmun wasn't sure what to say. The kind look on Grandfather's face was assuring though, and kept him at ease. "Why did you do it," Grandfather asked.

"I didn't do anything," Edmun replied. "He came at me. Pinned me down, hit me in the face twice. I took the chance.."

"And savaged his privates like a dog," Grandfather finished it for him. "He is to be your Lord one day. If you keep showing insolence then he'll remember it."

"He insulted my father," Edmun said with anger. "My mother and my sister. I got very angry after that."

"He will be taught a lesson as well lad," Grandfather said, stroking his chin. "I didn't build this House from nothing to hand it over to a brat."

"Martyn has been taught a lesson many times," Edmun complained. "He keeps getting away with it. He bullies us Grandfather. We complain to the knights, but they don't listen." Edmun's resentments started bubbling up. "What kind of knights are they. Martyn and his lackeys have been tormenting the children for years, but no one cares. Today Ser Sylas just stood and watched while Martyn beat me up."

"Listen lad.."

"Not just him," Edmun didn't care that he had just interrupted his grandfather. The anger was in him, and he had to get it out. "All other knights and man at arms just watched. They only came when I kicked Martyn. Where is the justice in that Grandfather?"

Grandfather was struggling with words. It was hard looking noble, when one had to deny the truth that was staring right at them. "Martyn will one day rule Harrenhal," he said. "He has to be strong, and learn to command. Sure he will learn courtesy soon, but that rough stint is necessary in a Lord. Martyn is strong and willful, that is required of him. You will serve him one day, and for that you have to lose your insolence and learn to respect him. Sure he will learn courtesy in time, but you have your own lesson to learn as well. Learn to obey, follow, and know your place. If you don't life can get hard."

Edmun couldn't believe his ears. "Martyn is a vile person," his voice was dazed. "How can he possibly be a good lord?"

"Vile or not, it is strength that is required for ruling. Strength to protect your own, and defeat the outsiders. The world has little to give boy, and if you want it then you have to be strong enough to take it."

Edmun's mind was thrumming as looked at his Grandfather's face, which suddenly looked dull and stupid as a toad. "He takes from us," he said with wide eyes. "He takes children's things, and breaks their wills. When we raise our voices then we are silenced by beatings and threats. Is this your idea of a good lord?"

Grandfather's kind façade started breaking. "Listen lad.."

But Edmun wasn't done. "Were you also acting strong when you rode out against the Legion?"

The façade broke away to reveal an affronted face. "What did you say?"

"You heard me," said Edmun with vigor. "I read about it, the way you broke Aegon's Legion in the tourney grounds. They were afraid and hungry, looking for shelter. You and your knights attacked and killed them, and for what crime, it was just to please the new King. They tried to flee on foot, and you chased them with horses and dogs. They were good people, and you  _killed_ them," he threw the accusation while he glared daggers at his grandfather. "And now you are telling me to bow to Martyn, a huge turd of a person, who is sure to do worse things than what happened..."

Edmun stopped abruptly. An icy cold feeling went through his whole body when he took note of his grandfather's face. Lord Walter Whent was staring down at him shaking with pure hatred. Grandfather had never looked at someone like that, not in Edmun's memory. That was when he realized that he crossed a line. He had crossed the line, and there was no coming back now. His stomach dropped as Lord Walter Whent rose from his seat, and menaced towards him. Edmun felt fear shrink him into the littlest thing imaginable.

"You...little... _bastard_ ," Lord Walter growled.

Edmun couldn't utter a sound. He was paralysed with fear. He just gulped, unable to break contact with Lord Walter's blood shot eyes.

"You...ungrateful... _ungrateful_...pampered little bastard! You think you can preach to me?  _Me?_  What do you know of fairness, of life?" Grandfather paused as he stared hatefully at Edmun's blanched face. "Here, let me show you!" Abruptly he snatched one of Edmun's arms, and pulled at it with a force unimaginable from a grandfather. Edmun winced in pain as Grandfather pulled hard on his arm, forcing him up from his seat. "You will know your place soon, ungrateful little brat," each of his words was a spit of thick venom.

He dragged Edmun with him out of the study, and then through the stony corridors of Harrenhal. Edmun followed him, walking, stumbling, being dragged on the floor. His wrist was screaming in pain where Grandfather held him, shunting his two bones together. ' _Mercy grandfather. Forgive me please,'_ he wanted to shout, but his pride forbade him to.

"Clynton!" Lord Walter shouted for Edmun's father when he was outside his chamber, his voice mad with anger. " _Clynton!_ Come on out! Come and see what your little whelp has done."

The chamber door burst open, and his father and mother rushed out. "What happened?"

"Father!" Edmun couldn't help but cry out. "Mother!"

"Let go of him now Father," Father's voice was angry as he moved to defend him. "He is a  _boy_  for Gods' sake!"

His grandfather shoved Edmun into father's arms. Edmun's whole family and the servants had also come by then, shock etched on their faces as they took in the whole scene. Maester Forlan was there too, wild worry on his face.

"He won't have any of it, you hear me? I want nothing given to him! He is hereby disinherited from  _any_  of the possessions," Lord Walter barked. "I built this House from nothing, and the little shit has the nerve to teach morals to me!"

Hot tears rushed out of Edmun's eyes, he buried his face in Father's chest, refusing to look.

"He is your grandson Father," his father retorted. "Your  _blood_. You can't.."

"I can and I will," shouted Lord Walter. "I have four others. Do you think you did me a favor by making a son? From what I see, he is a useless mouth to feed!" He spat. "I want him out of this castle after the Tourney. You hear me? Find a different home for him. He has no place here!"

"What are you all staring at," Lord Walter shouted at the watchers. "Go to your chambers." He left for his chamber, and the crowd started dispersing.

When he was gone Father pushed Edmun gently off his chest to look him in the eyes. "What happened son?"

But Edmun couldn't utter a word as sobs racked his body. His felt himself falling down, but Father held on to him, refusing to let go. Edmun loved his father with all his heart at that moment, but the sobs kept coming with breaths, unstoppable, inconsolable. He slumped down on the floor like a broken marionette, dragging his father with him.

He could hear his mother and his sister, his other family as well; talking around him. But Edmun couldn't comprehend them. A black blinding space was in front of his eyes, and Edmun's whole world seemed to have been lost in it.

In that black blinding space, faces flashed in front of him. The worn haggard faces Edmun had seen in the queue of commoners at the castle gates, that had appeared familiar to him when he had come back from riding. It was in his despair that Edmun realized how stupid he had been, and why the faced had appeared familiar.

He had seen those faces in the queue only, but on multiple days.  _Those people had been coming for many days,_ Edmun realized,  _asking for help from their lords. They kept coming and coming, and were being sent away, every day, by their Lords, my family._


	6. Head of the Waywatchers (Addam I)

** Chapter 5 **

Master Addam leaned over his broad oak desk, running his weary yet vigilant eyes through the parchments scattered all over it, trying to make sense out of their writings. The neat study chamber was quiet except for the burning embers that crackled in the fireplace, adding a savory taste in the crisp morning air. Reports from White Harbor, Lannisport, Oldtown, Planky Town, Gulltown, King's Landing; they were all there on his desk. Perhaps the word 'report' was an exaggeration. They were small notes scribbled by his men all over Westeros, telling of things that might be of note to their employer. Addam had spent months finding and placing loyal men all over the port cities of Westeros, disguised as resident merchants. Now the hard work was paying for itself. The South might have forgotten his  _legion,_ but Addam hadn't. They went by a different name now, but the  _Waywatchers_  remembered their roots.

Addam decided to take a break, unable to crack the labyrinth, again. Leaning back on his plush chair he ran a hand through his salt and pepper stubble. The air was nippy again that morning as another early summer snow fell outside the glass window, painting Wintertown in a dour white. Addam let out a sigh. 'The world is a tapestry,' he remembered Archmaester Welman's statement from a lifetime ago, when Addam had been a novice at the Citadel. The Old man loved to bore the statement into the minds of all his pupils. "A colorful  _intricate_ tapestry made by the Gods. Everything is connected, though one wouldn't find it through casual eyes. It is up to the person's wits to see it for himself and appreciate the beauty. Seeing _, the real seeing,_ that is what is required." For all his urgings about this mysterious 'tapestry', the old man died of a broken hip before he could find it himself.

Here Addam was now, no longer a boy novice, but the Head of the Waywatchers, a grown man of forty-five with greying hair and eye circles, and a voice that could inspire and intimidate men and women. Despite all that Addam still held the old archmaester's teaching to heart. At the moment he was looking for hints of a different tapestry, spun not by the Gods, but by men.

_Or rather, a woman._

'What are you planning Rhaenyra,' he whispered. He glanced at the wall length map of Westeros that hung to his right, all dotted with castles and towns. The  _Company of the Dragon_  were up to something, they had to be. Winter was over, and it was time to act. Rhaenyra and her followers had left Westeros after they all were routed by Lord Whent's knights in Harrenhal. The Company had resurfaced after the War of the Ninepenny Kings, when they struck the hot iron and took over the weakened Golden Company. That was when Addam's own group at Winterfell had realized that it was not the end of Rhaenyra and her prophecy obsessed followers. At the moment the  _Company_ were talking to the Prince of Dragonstone Rhaegar Targaryen, that much was clear from what he and the others could decipher. The messages stopped making sense after that, and that was what worried Addam. Everything seemed normal to his senses. His heart screamed otherwise, and Addam languished in this turmoil in silence.

It was all too much. Addam trained his eyes away from the map and the reports. Instead he reached for his wine flask on the desk and poured himself a drink. His eyes closed on their own and he forgot everything he had been thinking as the Arbor Gold went down his throat, soothing his throbbing senses like a woman's whisper.  _These Northerners have no sense for the finer thing_ s, thought Addam as he smiled down at his empty cup. For a person who was Southron to the bone, Addam had ended up in the unlikeliest of places. The North was grey and hard, and  _cold,_ so cold; nothing like the sunlit village beside the Honeywine where Addam was born and brought up _._ Not a day had come in all of his time here when Addam could wear anything other than heavy wool or fur. Everyone around him wanted strong ale or sour wine, and it had taken some effort on Addam's part to arrange for periodic barrels of the fine Arbor gold.

 _Maybe the fault is with me,_ he told himself. He had two sons, Horas and Matthos, from his two different wives. Both of them were doing fine in the North. Horas was born from his first wife Karla who he had met in the South. She and Addam had raised him together until she died of a fever, and now Horas spent most of his time with the Northerners. He was now a man, a  _Northern_ man, a tall, strapping lad of seventeen years. While Matthos, a boy of seven, he even spoke like them, in their careless Northern accent. His mother Holly was a Northerner too. She was recently widowed when Addam first met her, and Addam had dared to fall in love again as he got to know the woman more. Holly died giving birth to Matthos, and after that the boy was practically being raised by the Northerners, with Addam always being busy. Addam had never even told his sons where their father had come from, where he was born.  _My Southron-ness will die with me,_ Addam mused as he savored his drink. He wasn't sure what to think of that.

Addam decided he was done for now with his little espionage scheme, and should move to other things. Being the Head of the  _Waywatchers_  there was no dearth of issues requiring his attention. Besides, Lord Rickard Stark didn't have to know about what Addam was up to in his private time. That knowledge was limited to only Addam and his trusted friends who had been with him since the start. While Addam was loyal and owed everything to the Starks, things may not remain good if the Lord Rickard found out that Addam had been spying on all of Westeros.

He collected the reports and threw them inside a drawer. For a moment the burning fireplace seemed a tempting place for the parchments, but Addam rebuked away the thought as soon as it came. He went for the ledger containing the various requests & demands for grants by the Waywatchers who worked on the field. Over the years the Waywatchers had come to be divided into five groups, or  _Orders_ as they had come to call themselves with pride. First came the  _Traders_ , mostly grown and tempered men, who looked after trade and commerce all over the North. They were the strongest of the groups, having hands on the newly emerging trade routes. Next came the  _Planners_ , more women than men, charged with looking after the refugees and Wintertown's everyday life, and ways to improve it. Then the _Scholars_ , mostly green boys and some girls, aspiring to build a second Citadel in the North. The  _Watchers_ , consisting of gruff sworn swords and hedge knights, whose task was to look after the law and order in the North, though they were mostly limited to lands sworn to Winterfell. And finally, there were the  _Soldiers_ , working more closely with Lord Rickard than Master Addam, thinking of and implementing ways to strengthen the Northern army. Except for the last one each of them was supervised and funded from Addam's office in the First Keep, who in turn was under Lord Stark.

Addam had crossed out ten or twelve demands in a row with disdain when he heard a knock on the door. "Enter," he drawled, wondering what fresh piece of work it was.

Instead the door opened to reveal Lady Lyanna, and Addam felt himself smile and lighten up. She was a sight for sore eyes, the Young Lady of Winterfell. Her heavy grey cloak was flaked with snow, white as the steam coming from her breathe. "Lady Stark," he greeted, standing up. "Is everything alright?"

"Everything is fine Master Addam," said Lady Lyanna with a smile as she closed the door behind, dusting the snow from her cloak. "I hope I didn't disturb you."

"Not at all my lady," Addam replied. "Dismissing these  _foolish_  demands can be done later, a drag on my time anyway." He pushed the ledger aside. "What happened? Did Horas do something stupid again?"

Lady Lyanna looked at him in exasperation. "He didn't do anything at all, not at the moment anyway," she said as she walked to his desk, taking a seat opposite to him. "You should go easy on him. He does try his best. Last I saw, he was helping in clearing the spring feast arrangements. There were plans to practice swords after that, I believe."

"He needs to try harder my lady," Addam replied. Lady Lyanna often defended his son from Addam, at times very fiercely. Addam didn't mind at all. Horas and Lady Lyanna were born in the same year, and had grown up together. Addam had taught them both along with with other children, and had seen them become friends. He had once wanted a daughter, and seeing his son befriend Lady Lyanna gave his old heart a lot of joy. "I am sure you will understand when you have children of your own my lady. Fighting and revelry can only get you so far," he added. "He can't swing swords forever."

"Maybe, but they sure give the boys some pride don't they," said Lady Lyanna. "Horas wants to be a knight. You should've seen Brandon when he was our age. All he wanted to do was fight and ride."

"And chase girls, yes I know," Addam said with a tinge of impatience. "Horas isn't the Heir to Winterfell though. He has a different path to tread." Perhaps he was being unfair to his son, but in his experience hardly anything in life hardly was ever fair, at least for the commoners and the lowborn. That battle at Harrenhal still haunted Addam, even after all this time. Good fighters had died fighting Lord Whent's knights at Harrenhal that day, spilling their blood and hopes uselessly on the grassy fields beside God's Eye, while Addam and his friends had just run. Thinking about that day still made him shiver with fear. Now Addam was working to build a new world, where swordplay wouldn't hold much importance for survival. He wanted his sons to fit and thrive in that world.

The easy look on Lady Lyanna's face flickered. "As you say Master Addam," she said. The young Lady Stark was like all other Northerners, fierce in her beliefs.

"I know he tries," Addam said on seeing the look she gave him. "I do appreciate him," he added further, and Lady Lyanna's face eased again. "He's strong and a has good heart. Most of the novices of his age who work under me are utter imbeciles with stupid ideas."

"Stupid? How so?" She asked inquisitively. That was another thing Horas could learn from Lady Lyanna, curiosity and a keen eye.

"These young people," Addam scoffed. "Insolent and naïve. They think they are the kings of the world, all high up and invincible in their cage of dreams. I hope they learn soon, otherwise that road only leads to brigandry, or worse, madness." Addam was once a mad dreamer himself, until life taught him to find joy in more  _earthly_  things. His family for instance, and his students. "Just look at the demands in my ledger my lady. Today someone suggested paving the streets and castle with marble, so that Winterfell can become as beautiful as the Sept of Baelor."

Lady Lyanna smiled with mirth. "I think I've heard that one before."

"Maybe. These  _ideas_ never are original," said Addam.

"Perhaps it is a good thing," she said thoughtfully. "People in Wintertown are daring to dream."

Addam snorted. "Dreams can be good," he said. "But these are delusions." Reading and listening to these dreamers often made Addam apprehensive about his own sons. "You may not have heard the new ones that are floating around my lady," he spoke on. "Retaking the Sisters from the Arryns, clearing the Wolfswood to settle the Wildlings there, defeating Bravos and Lorath and force them to reduce their import tariffs, and what not. I all but ignore them now, it gives me time to address the bigger worries."

"And what are the  _bigger worries_ Master Addam," Lady Lyanna asked.

He smiled bitterly. "To be honest my lady, and blunt, at the moment my biggest concern are Wintertown's privy pits. They are filling up, and need to be redug."

Lady Lyanna rolled her eyes. "Seriously," she asked. "Privy pits? Is that all? That is quite...unsimulating."

"Hardly, Lady Lyanna. You don't understand," he replied, and sighed. "I did discuss this with you father recently. Turns out we had been building our dreams on shaky grounds. Wintertown was never meant to be a big city, it just became one in a rush. There are no rivers or lakes near it; just the hot springs and a small trickling stream. The nearest river is ten leagues away. We can't house any more people if our present arrangement is to be sustained my lady, but we can't keep them out either."

Lady Lyanna's face turned thoughtful. "Surely you have a solution in mind Master Addam," she asked.

"Why do you think so my lady?"

Lady Lyanna shrugged. "Everyone in Wintertown knows you are the person with all the answers," she stated with a smirk.

Addam snorted. Lady Lyanna seemed to a little more blithe than usual about the matter, given her involvement with the Waywatchers and their work.  _Or perhaps she trusts me too much, like many others._  "That's what Lord Stark said as well, but it is not true. My hope is that the lands where the  _North's Way_  is being enforced should retain its smallfolk, and all should be fine," he replied, and sighed. "I won't lie, I had expected better results from the spring negotiations. Nevertheless, all but the Boltons and Dustins have joined. Could have been worse. I'll take it." His throat went dry, so he drank some more from his glass of Arbor gold. "But still, with the smallfolk coming in everyday, we have to think for the future. Soon we may have to plan the streets and lay down sewers, and that is a different headache altogether. I just hope everything stays peaceful in coming years. You never know when trouble might spring up after a long summer; with all the lords playing the game of thrones." The face of a beautiful silver haired woman flashed in front of his eyes, her smile malevolent as the stranger. Though Addam knew that she wouldn't look like that now after all the years that have passed. She would be old now, just like him.  _What are you up to Rhaenyra?_

No reply came from young Lady Lyanna this time, she appeared to be thinking over what Addam had said. For a while the only sound in the chamber was that of the crackling fire. "Why did you come to me my lady," he asked, breaking the pause. "Can I help you with something?"

She looked at him. "Yes indeed Master Addam," she said. "You studied the higher mysteries during your time at the Citadel did you not?"

"Yes I did," he nodded in affirmation. "I have a Valyrian steel link to show for it." Addam had forged fifteen links in total when he studied in Oldtown, all piled up haphazardly in a large chest. He had more links than the old crafty Maester Walys, but still wasn't eligible to wear them as a chain. "Why do you ask my lady?"

Lady Lyanna seemed to hesitate, and her face turned grave, Addam noted with a tinge of sadness. She had made a habit of carrying that grave face, ever since that incident with the crofter's family four years ago. Lady Lyanna always carried the guilt of the tragedy.  _She needs to be happy, and leave the frowning to us old men._ "I was wondering if I could borrow some books from you Master Addam," she spoke. "The subject has piqued my curiosity, and the library doesn't have many books for it."

"Of course you can Lady Lyanna," he replied, pleased on seeing his former pupil showing interest in reading for leisure. "All my books are on the shelf. The Higher mysteries are on the third row from the top. Help yourself." She stood up and walked to his large iron book shelf to the left, bustling with tomes of every size. She took her time in inspecting them in silence.

"Do you need help in finding the right book my lady?"

"No need Master Addam," she replied, her eyes not leaving the shelf. She finally pulled out a book, and then another. "I will return them soon Master Addam. Thank you." With this she walked out of the chamber, her gait measured and stiff. When she was gone Master Addam got up to inspect the bookshelf, curious about what his former pupil wanted to read about. She had taken two books, one of them was about prophecies and seers, while other was about the mysteries of Valyria.

_Curious indeed._

He went back to his desk and opened the ledger of demands again. ' _Twenty silver stags for buying sewing needles and other things, so the new women can learn knitting_ ,' said the writing of Maggy, the former Septa turned  _Planner._ Addam approved the demand with a enthusiastic flourish of his quill. Many demands that followed were prudent and practical, Addam was pleased to see. Perhaps there was hope after all.

There was a knock on the door again. It was Clydas, a bright healer novice of sixteen years who worked with Maester Walys. "M'lord," he bowed his head.

"I am no lord boy," he replied with a fatherly smile. "What can I do for you?"

"You had a raven Master..Addam. From the Eyrie."

"The  _Eyrie,"_ he exclaimed. "Is it from Ned?"

"Lord Eddard m'lord? I don't know. Why don't you see it yourself?"

Clydas handed him the scroll and shuffled out of the room. Addam broke the seal and unrolled it, and recognised the neat succinct handwriting of Ned Stark.

_Master Addam._

_I know what have been up to. I spotted your man Symond when I visited Gulltown, and he told me everything. I approve of your work, and would ask you to take me into your confidence. The Company of the Dragon is planning something, and they seem to be very curious about the Starks and the North. It looks like we Starks would be at the heart of whatever their schemes are. I ask you to stay vigilant, and look out for dangers to our Kingdom. Convince my father to increase patrol of the East coast and White Harbor. Do whatever else you think fit. I will be coming to Winterfell soon, and we will speak more about this._

_Your former apprentice and ally,_

_Eddard Stark._

Addam's mind was thinking very fast as he rolled back the note. Perhaps it was time to call for another meeting of his inner circle.


End file.
